One More Night
by BLKGURLSMUSE
Summary: After the tragic death of her husband, Michonne returns to her small town to start anew. Michonne soon realizes that you cannot run from fate. What is meant to be will always find a way... A/U Total Richonne/ Implied Dichonne
1. Before We Get Started

**A/N:** For a long time, I was afraid to venture out into a full-blown Richonne story; I had gotten so accustomed to writing the **Richonne Lemon Shots** and I got too comfortable. So I channeled another genre that I love and adore (good mystery/horror/supernatural stories), and this is what I came up with. No worries, Richonne is always the endgame.

 **Please Note:** The **M** rated chapters can be found in my **Richonne Lemon Shot (RLS)** series.

 **Read Chapter 14** : **K **eeps on Ticking** _–_ Chapter 52: Me and Mrs. Jone _s (RLS) -_** **Chapter 15: History Repeats.**

 **Read Chapter 25: The Significant Gesture _–_ Chapter 53: The Mountain, The Lake and The Light _(RLS) -_ Chapter 26: Into Dreams.**

My apologies if that's confusing. But I wanted to keep this story in the **T** category on this site.

 **Dedicated To:** The amazing actor Scott Wilson who portrayed the beloved Hershel Green - March 29, 1942 - October 6, 2018

Thanks!

~Muse~


	2. Just A Small Town Girl

**A/N** : This entire story is dedicated to **Scott Wilson** \- Hershel Green (RIP)

* * *

"You're all packed and ready to go," Hershel said as he gave me a playful grin and wink over his shoulder. "It's good to know you haven't forgotten about us." I followed him with my two reusable grocery bags out of the store.

"Blue Ridge is where I grew up, this place made me who I am today, so I don't think forgetting that would ever happen."

"Sounds like you'll always be our sweet ole small town girl," Hershel chuckled as he helped me load the bags of groceries I'd had ordered in advance into the back of Daryl's truck.

My train of thought halted as soon as my mind said his name and the inner mind, my soul, absorbed it. It wasn't Daryl's truck anymore – the truck belongs solely to me. I am not sure if I will ever get used to this, but I've got to try.

"I stopped by the cabin this morning before opening the store and turned on the heat for you. I also set the fire, just in case that wasn't enough. The rest of your nonperishables are on the kitchen counter...Ya know Chonne, the house is looking pretty darn good. Mitchell and Olivia would be mighty proud."

"Thank you so much, Mr. Green, I appreciate your help, I really can't wait to see it. It's all I've been thinking about this week." I moved back on my heels, casting a glance up at the alpine range that drew around the quiet little town of Blue Ridge. My cabin was waiting for me, just over the cobalt hills and snow-sprinkled pines. "How much do I owe you, sir?"

"I'll hear nothing of it, Chonne," he said, moving the back of his hand across his scruffy white beard. "We look after our own here... and before I forget, Annette will be calling you soon. She's wanting to have a formal party to welcome you back to town. She makes a hell of a rosemary and garlic lamb roast, so be prepared to feast."

"How sweet of her. Tell her I'll be more than happy to come over, once I'm finished unpacking and getting all settled in."

Hershel handed me the spare set of cabin keys the contractors left with him and I made him promise to charge all my groceries to my account, although I wouldn't put it past him to let this shopping bill slip by uncharged as a hospitable gift. We said our goodbyes and I thanked him again as I climbed into the front seat of the truck.

"Hold up, Chonne! Hershel called back out to me from underneath the storefront awning. "I nearly forgot - did Maggie tell you that you have a neighbor now?"

"In the new cabin next door?" I called back. A vague memory came to mind of Maggie telling me a new rental place had been built next door to the north of my cabin about a year ago, and I think she said someone recently moved in. Only handfuls of cabins and homes run along the gravel road where the Jones Family cabin house and all of them are to the south, and technically, closer to town than they are to me. As far as I knew, those are the only homes along the winding forested road that had permanent residents. Most of the homes and cabins near me are rentals for vacationers who frequented on weekends or seasonal vacations.

"That's it..." He nodded, "I heard he's from Ireland or was it Scotland... or maybe Australia? Either way, I thought I best tell you so you won't be surprised."

"Have you met him?"

"Not yet, none of us hardly seen hide or hair of him in town and he's been there a few months. Seems to keep to himself, but I hear he's nice enough."

"Sounds like the perfect neighbor. See you soon."

Close to thirty minutes later, after traversing the seemingly never-ending interstate, I pulled off Highway 6 onto Trout Road; a narrow, unpaved long stretch of road. I was thrumming with excitement, my palms beating impatiently against the steering wheel as I pulled onto the once gravel, now a concrete driveway. My pooch Noah seemed to notice my sudden spike in mood and lifted his fluffy head off the back seat of the truck, his ears twitched, his nose flared in curiosity.

"Well hey there buddy, are you done napping?" I chuckled at him from the rearview mirror. With his piercing amber colored eyes, Noah is a very typical Chocolate Labrador Retriever, highly intelligent, bull in a China shop clumsy, full of energy and will run to the door to greet you (or anyone, for that matter) as if you'd just returned from a year-long trip. Labs truly are 'a woman's best friend', but for now, his leash would need to stay on every time we go outdoors.

I parked out front, and let out a weary out-breath of satisfaction, I was back home, taking in the views of the dense forest, the lake further down the hill is scarcely visible. The Blue Ridge Mountains are an apart of the Appalachian Trail in Roanoke Virginia, it's about a seven-hour drive from Atlanta

I temporarily left the unpacking efforts, so I could get Noah's leash on, even though I now have a newly added garage at the side of the log cabin. It would be easier for me to haul my things directly through the front door, rather than use the side entrance to the kitchen. Noah jumped from the backseat and let that keen nose lead the way through the garden and around to the lakefront facing side of the house. His snout darted eagerly over the fresh snow, as he picked up a scent, his tail wagging haphazardly. I took in the cool, fresh mountain air as we walked; the scent of clean pine with the faint strains of wood smoke. Noah pulled me across the clearing and finally chose a tall pine tree along the tree line worthy of doing his business.

A thin pillar of smoke rose from above the trees a few hundred yards to the north-east. I suppose that's coming from my neighbor's house. I couldn't see anything from here though, you can't see a stone's throw in front of you in these woods. Besides the edge of neighbor's driveway, which ran parallel to mine from the road about ten yards away, it was impossible to tell anyone even lived nearby.

And that is just how I want it.

Solitude.

I gave the leash a gentle tug guiding Noah back toward the cabin. Inside, I pulled the heavy oak door firmly shut, sat on the bench, unlaced and pulled off my boots and set them on the large welcome mat. Afterward, I hung up Noah's leash on the coat hooks beside the door and he didn't hesitate, Noah took off sniffing out the new environment and I came to a stop, taking in my surroundings.

"Well, I'll be damned…" I respired. The photos the contractor had sent the finished work didn't do one ounce of justice. The old Jones family cabin was no longer the dusty and outdated log cabin I remembered from childhood. The living area was well lit with accent lighting, the wooden walls freshly stained, and the large cobblestone fireplace stood beautifully without a crumbled, out of place stone in sight. Large bay windows brought space and depth to the front of the living room which faced the lake. It had the perfect mixture of both new and nostalgic.

Pass the comfy living area and into the kitchen, the stainless steel was gleaming, bronze speckled granite counter tops and cobblestone backsplash, a new large granite counter island with matching bench centered the kitchen.

I walked through the rest of the bottom floor of the cabin which consisted of a cozy dining nook, a nice sized bathroom, and two downstairs bedrooms. All wonderfully restored. I stood in the doorway of Morgan's room and wondered how did they ever sand away all of the graffiti he'd etched into the wood back in 96.

When I'd repurchased the home, much of Gram and Pa-Pa's furniture had been found in the basement, stored safely away after all these years. Apparently, the previous owners hadn't bothered to do away with them. I'd saved my favorite pieces to be kept in the home and donated the rest to the local mission. But still, I could hardly reconcile the vacation home I now stood in against the one I spent every summer and most holidays in as a child. While it's been tumultuous in the last seven months, to finally be standing here enjoying the finished product was surreal.

I headed upstairs to the loft style master bedroom that had once been Gram and Pa-Pa's. I stood at the windows in my new bedroom and took in the broad view of Blue Ridge Lake. A cool blue mist hovered over the forest, with monolithic pines rising like tall statues around the dusky lake. If Hershel was right about Grandpa Mitchell being proud of the life I was able to return to his beloved cabin, then Daryl would have been even prouder at the way I had managed to make it all come together. I guess his years of hard work at the family-owned Dixon Constructions company had somehow influenced me a little. D always had such good tastes when it came to refurbishing or constructing of any kind.

Eventually, I began my unpacking; I started with grocery bags and then my suitcases of clothes, shoes, and toiletries. Last were my cherished electronics and small appliances. I stacked the boxes and bags neatly in the entryway inside the house. In the space of four hours, I had almost entirely organized and unpacked all of my belongings. I prided myself on my organization, although Daryl thought I was orderly to a fault, borderline OCD is what he called it, but it was just the way I ticked. I organized just about everything. It got me through law school, and it certainly got me through the last year and a half… But I guess something had to give. It was funny that for all our arguing, it was Daryl's death that got me to finally realize maybe there was some truth in his criticisms... Truthfully, it was a damn shame that it took such a tragic event for me to see it.

After several hours of unpacking and one pair of aching feet later, I reclined with a glass of Merlot in the steaming bathtub of my upstairs suite. I enjoyed long baths back in Atlanta, but the climate here was much better suited for those long hot baths. The cloud cover of the afternoon had finally cleared and dusk was falling rapidly. Small twinkles of starlight are visible from the glass skylight above me as I sank into the heat of the water, allowing myself to finally relax for the first time since I arrived.

Being here is my way of making a much-needed change. Stuck in my late thirties as a recently widowed, a workaholic lawyer was not something I'd ever envisioned. I was curious to get to know the side of me that didn't define myself solely by ritualistic practices and behaviors. I didn't plan on staying at the lake house forever, but I wanted to make the coming months a worthwhile experience.

I was startled out of my thoughts as a gut-churning wail echoed out from somewhere deep in the woods. Water splattered over the brim of the tub as I suddenly sat up, my fingers nearly lost the grip on my wine glass. My breath hitched to a halt and I listened closely for the sounds of anything else outside, maybe something closer. A few nail-biting moments later, a second bloodcurdling scream followed, an odd shrill and panicked groan, as if someone, no a woman, was hurt or in danger. The cry resounded eerily across the forest.

For a moment I thought about calling Maggie, but as I walked over to my cellular I thought back in time to a memory of me and Morgan as kids dashing up the stairs, two at a time, like frightened bunnies to jump into bed with Gram and Pa-Pa, terrified by the exact same sound. 'A fox', Pa-Pa had informed us; 'their scream sounds just like a woman's cry, nothing to worry about while we are tucked up safely inside.'

I let out a breath of nervous laughter and settled back down in the bath, allowing myself a moment to calm down. I'd forgotten the strange and oftentimes terrifying sounds that the woods surrounding Blue Ridge Lake emitted. It was all normal and expected when living in the middle of nowhere. Still, I couldn't shake the eerie feeling, my tranquil mood was now ruined.

I attempted a few more minutes in the bath, focusing on balancing my breathing and letting go again. I finished off my large glass of wine but I couldn't shake the feeling. It was like that uncomfortable irritation you got when being watched. I feel so silly, considering that with the shut wooden blinds are practically impossible to see through.

I gave myself a mental pep talk as I got out of the bath. I'm back home so I can finish grieving and after that is done, I have got to make a real attempt at moving on.


	3. Nice Enough My Ass

_Michonne takes Noah for a walk around Blue Ridge Lake and some major discoveries are made..._

* * *

The week passed quite serenely as I made myself at home. I scrubbed each room from top to bottom, arranged and rearranged furniture, reorganized Pa-Pa's book collection and even made a dozen snickerdoodle muffins. I used lots of cinnamon and butter, just the way Gram showed me.

Noah made himself right at home, hanging out by the living room fire and watching me move about the cabin. I just adore his sweet and calming nature. I'd always guessed that's why Daryl picked his specific breed. It was certainly not for his guard dog abilities, that for damn sure.

The next morning, and a full seven days at the cabin, I had stepped out to the woodshed to retrieve another armload of heavy logs for the fire. My usual quiet was interrupted by the sounds of wood chopping. I tried guessing which direction the noise was coming from as I made my way from the back to the front of the house, It was at that point that I was able to estimate the sound to be closer to the road. It didn't have the distinguishable stop and start cadence that came from splitting firewood, this was someone hacking down a tree.

"C'mon Noah," I whispered after dropping the logs in the basket by the fireplace. "It's time to meet our neighbor." I zipped my navy blue parka up to my neck, covered my head with the downed fur hood and slipped on a pair of matching gloves.

Noah pulled as far ahead as the leash would go, those long ears of his just flopping along with excitement. It was still too early to let him off the leash, I figured another week or so of exploring the area and he'd be good to go without it. Or so I hoped... But any longer with him tugging at my arm and he and he might dislocate my shoulder.

As we turned the corner, the sounds of chopping became louder, much louder and I was greeted by the sight of a man standing on a stepladder, armed with a hatchet and going to town on a sycamore tree.

A sycamore tree on my side of the property line!

"Hey!" I gasped in surprise while jogging up towards the man. I don't think he heard me through his loud grunts because he continued chopping hard like his life depended on it. He was completely oblivious with his back to me.

"Hey!" I called again, louder this time.

What on earth was he doing? That's my tree, on my property! There was no fence line between the driveways, but that tree is clearly on my side of the driveway.

As the limb cracked and fell to the ground with a loud thud sound, he finally turned, only then noticing my presence. He was dressed in a brown suede jacket, the jacket had that classic style fur trimmed collar, his jeans are form fitting and jet black, and he wore classic style work boots.

"Oh, hey there," he said, stepping down off the ladder and running a hand through his dark, thick unruly curls. He had a distinct British accent and his light blue eyes appraised me, neither pleasant nor hostile. And although the man before me is very attractive, he desperately needed a shave.

"'Hey there?'" I said, miffed at how nonchalant he was. "What do you mean 'hey there'? What hell are you doing," I gestured disbelievingly to the pile of limbs littered around the base of the tree... Noah finally came to my side, the leash slackened in my hand. "A blind man could see that you are clearly on my property."

His eyes slowly followed the path of my pointed arm towards the limbs. The tree was nearly half gone.

"I don't see any fences here and the tree was scraping along the roof of my truck." He shrugged. "I was planning on removing all of the chopped branches."

"And you're well within your rights to remove any tree limbs that are on your side of the boundary - hell, the law even says you can put the limbs back onto my side, but you can't just hack my damn tree down!"

His eyes narrowed as he made a display of signing over dramatically. The hatchet made a loud thud as it hit the ground next to the folding ladder.

"And you would be…?" he asked cynically, crossing his arms over his chest.

"Michonne," I spat, mirroring his pompous stance and disapproving expression.

"Well then, Michonne," he said my name as if it were a curse word, "I take it you're the new neighbor." He looked me up and down in a frigid manner. Please forgive me for not being knowledgeable in the local laws - clearly I'm not a local." It was probably the most unapologetic apology I'd ever heard. "Although, since we're talking about laws, I think it is worth mentioning that I never called and complained about the noise the entire time your crew of jack-hammer, chainsaw-giddy construction workers banged away all hours of the night. That ruckus kept me from a proper sleep for months."

"That has nothing to do with me, I live out of state..." I quickly retorted, "So is this…" I added, motioning to the mauled tree, "is this your way of getting back at me? Because if you didn't let the local authorities, or even the foreman, know that they weren't meet the terms of the county noise ordinances, then that's your problem, not mine."

"County noise ordinances..." He scoffed, "What are you, a lawyer?" He let off a harsh laugh.

"As a matter of fact, I am," I snapped.

"Ah. Now it all makes sense," he said, letting his eyes roll upwards. "The hypocrisy of it all." He threw his hands in the air while letting out an exasperated puff.

"Excuse me? There's no need to be a jackass."

"Jackass...I'm just being honest, I'm sure you wouldn't understand being a lawyer and all," he countered, his gaze snapping back to mine. "I'm really doing you a favor. All these trees are overgrown and need trimming back." His gaze returned to the disarray of fresh cut tree limbs around us. "Although, I admit I may have been a little overzealous with this one."

"A little overzealous... how about a lot. You've nearly lopped off the whole damn tree. You know, my grandpa planted these trees over 30 years ago. If you had a problem with them then you should have let me know, I've been here a week now."

He had no answer to that, so I tugged on Noah's leash pulling him away. "You just make sure you get rid of those damn branches and then get the hell off my property."

"Nice meeting you!" He called out to me as I hauled ass.

"Whatever!" I yelled back. What a jerk.

Back in the cabin, Noah and I settled by the fire, his tail thumping sporadically on the shag area rug. I looked at the clock, it was only noon, still, I said the hell with it and poured me a cool glass of Chardonnay, I chugged it down and then I sighed. Maybe I shouldn't have straightaway gone on the offensive with Lumberjack. Not exactly my best first impression with my neighbor. Gram would have been ashamed of the way I cursed. Still, he was clearly in the wrong, he murdered that tree, he should have talked to me first and he didn't need to be so goddamn rude about it.

All the contemplating made me hungry, so I made me a turkey club sandwich and some sweet potato chips for lunch. After Noah ate some kibbles, I took him for a walk. After that, I changed clothes and headed out for the day. As I pulled up the driveway, I slowed down past the mutilated tree and saw the pile of mangled branches stacked neatly – on my side of the driveway. Fucking jerk! I growled and threw my truck into reverse; I parked by the woodpile and threw each and every damn branch one by one haphazardly back onto his side of the driveway.

* * *

"Working on something big- Sheriff Rhee?" I asked while strolling into Maggie's office at the Blue Ridge Sheriff's Department.

"If so I think we can make a trade," I quipped while holding up my Tupperware dish of baked goods in one hand and the cardboard tray carrying our Mocha Lattes in the other.

She looked up from her paperwork. Her face broke into a wide grin. "Michonne Olivia Jones, surely they taught you in law school that bribing a sheriff is illegal." She let out a mock gasp.

I laughed and placed the goodies on her desk as she walked around to embrace me. I felt a strange joy at hearing my maiden name spoken out loud.

So good to see you, Mags," I said, squeezing my childhood friend in a tender embrace.

"Right back at ya, girl. I've been wondering when you were planning on coming downtown."

"How are you?" I asked her while passing her the large Mocha Latte drink from Sasha's Cafe.

"Shouldn't I be asking you that?" she said, making her way back to the desk.

"Maybe, but I asked first," I said and she chuckled, playfully rolling her eyes.

"Well, I'm good. This place is keeping me busy." She answered, but I knew there was more so I probed a little.

"So just busy, huh?" I said, giving her my signature innocent yet highly inquisitive glare as I took another sip of my Mocha, licking the warm sugary froth from my upper lip, it was close to scalding but so sweet and creamy.

"Well, being a sheriff pays good, but it could be better. Honestly, a little more income would do wonders…" She sighed and stared down at the paperwork. "Glen is now completely done with medical school and has his doctorates degree, but now comes the repayment of the loans - good God, the cost- more than double of our mortgage payment. - I just hope his business picks up..." She shrugged finally, leaning back in her chair.

"I'm so sorry to hear, Maggie" I reached over and squeezed her hand. "You'll be due for a raise next quarter and I'm sure his business will be successful, everyone needs a doctor and there's a lot of truck drivers in town who need DOT physicals and elderly people who need...well everything..."

"Yeah, you're right," she said, as a slight smile graced her lips. "My work has been really stressing me out lately too. I've been taking it home and sometimes Glen and I fight about it."

"Busy and stressful...around here?" I asked when I lived here nothing ever happened besides a few vandalism, some minor shoplifting, and the occasional domestic incidents.

"Yeah around here of all places. We have Mayor Phillips to thank for that." She said wincing with irritation.

"The new Mayor, how so," I asked.

"Phillips was elected on the promised to re-open Blue Ridge's one and only cold-case. Remember the two missing teens back in the 90's?"

"I remember," I said, raising a brow. "Since reopening, have you made any discoveries?"

"I went through the evidence storage and sent what we have to Quantico for modern forensic testing. My deputies have been re-examining what little evidence we have, re-interviewed everyone, but the depredations of time on a person's memory and the reopening of old wounds for those family are members..." She shook her head and huffed, "So I guess if you want to call that making discoveries you can."

"You'll solve this Maggie, you're persistent, and I've always believed Stokey gave up. If there's anything that can be found I know you and your deputies will find it."

"Maybe," she said staring downhearted at her coffee cup. "I'm going to work my ass off finding out what I can, that family needs closure… Okay…enough about my mess of a life," She picked up her cardboard coffee cup and pointed it in my direction, "now it's your turn to spill the tea."

I groaned and sank back into my seat.

"Attorney Michonne Dixon, are you finally going to tell me what happened that forced you to go on an unpaid leave of absence from work?"

"Oh hell! Please don't make me tell you… Hey...wait, how did you know it was forced?"

She smirked in a knowing way, Geese, she looks just like Hershel when she makes that face.

"Morgan," I concluded with a grumble. Maggie laughed hard. "That good for nothin' brother of mine is a straight up snitch!"

"He called with the big brother routine after you left Atlanta. Wanted me to keep an eye on you while you were here. Now c'mon, Chonne, it's tea time."

"Well, 'leave of absence' is the nice way of putting it. Shane actually staged an intervention with my therapist. I have to take a break from work or find myself without a job. How humiliating."

"That barely counts as an answer," Maggie groused, leaning forward across the table...Spill it…"

"Remind me to never become a suspect to any crime in this county." I threw my balled up napkin at her very scrutinizing face and she caught it without flinching.

"Okay – fine…damn, just stop looking at me like that." I sucked in a deep breath, "Let's just say after… after Daryl's death, I basically worked myself into a mental breakdown. I was coming into the firm at the ass-crack of dawn and greeting the cleaning crew every night. When I ran out of my own work I started doing the paralegals work, filing motions, writing their reports, doing their research. I just couldn't bear to go home. Then, a few months later, I suppose the lack of sleep caught up with me. I just lost it halfway through a civil deposition." I lowered my head in embarrassment at the memory. "I mean really lost my shit Mags...I was throwing legal pads and files while yelling like a psycho at the opposing counsel. I might have even kicked over my chair as I stormed out. Not that the opposing counsel didn't deserve it, she was a scandalous bitch! No morals or scruples whatsoever! Walsh contacted Dr. Monroe and here I am..."

Maggie's tightened her lips, her eyes watered and then she doubled over in a gut-busting cackle. My cheeks burned and I grimaced at her for a second before finally joining in. It was pretty funny … now there was some time and distance between me and the humiliating incident.

After a moment, her face softened and her laughter died down, she took a deep breath and said, "Well, you're here now. You are due for a change of pace and deserve some time away from all of that. And you are in luck…there's hardly enough going on up here to spark that hot temper of yours."

"Well, I'm not so sure about that…" I let out a deep respire. "What do you know about the guy who lives in the newly built cabin to the north of me?"

"Sexy and British?"

"Well, if you add major jackass to that description then I'm pretty sure we're talking about the same guy." I went on and explained the incident with the tree from earlier in the morning.

"Damn, Chonne." That's not very neighborly."

"I know." I grumbled, "It wasn't unprovoked though, Lumberjack is a sarcastic asshole."

"Well, his name is Rick and he seems nice enough, friendly and respectful. I've seen him at Abe's bar having a beer a few times, so a few months back, I drove over and introduced myself. He's been here a little over three months now, keeps to himself from what I can tell..."

"Yeah, but you're the sheriff his 'Mr. Friendly' persona could all be a ruse..."

"True." She chuckled, "But Abe said the same thing about the hot Lumberjack and he's had several conversations with him."

"So do you think I should apologize?"

"I probably would just for the sake of keeping the peace," Maggie said after a long moment. "But it's up to you though, just keep in mind you'll be neighbors for a while if you plan on staying.

She's right. Magdalene Bethany Green is wise beyond her years.

A brisk wind swept in caused dark clouds to roll and making the temperature drop by the time I arrived back home…Home… I liked the sound of that. The feeling of arriving back without any of the painful memories that haunted our house back in Atlanta made everything worth it.

"Whoa, Noah, calm down buddy." Noah was whining at the kitchen entrance as I let myself in through the garage and he practically hopped into my arms. I crouched down and gave his head a good petting. He nuzzled down into my shoulder, his hind legs trembling. He is behaving strange, poor boy is downright scared... I'd only been gone a few hours at best, hardly long enough to elicit such an abnormal response. He was generally very accepting of new environments and never minded being left alone once he'd had the chance to give the place a good sniff or two. Maybe he needs to go…

I didn't bother to take off my coat, instead, I pulled his leash off the coat hook at the front door. We walked out to the front of my house and he went to do his business out against the tree line. He didn't waste any time before he made a beeline towards me, quickly pulling me back to the house, his tail pulled tight against his bottom.

Quickly, almost frantically he led me along, while that peculiar, uncomfortable feeling of being watched came over me...again.


	4. Serves You Right

_Michonne extends the olive branch..._

* * *

The next week moved quickly as I settled into a routine. Noah and I adapted well in the woods surrounding the cabin and I had even spent one dazzlingly sunny day hiking around the sparkling lake. With Noah, I accomplished much longer hikes through the wide-ranging forests that bordered Blue Ridge national park.

Noah took to our new lifestyle with pure delight. I don't think I'd ever seen him so content. I guess having me around all the time was a happy change to the days he spent all alone in my large house in Atlanta. I'd come home from work after 9 pm and hurried our walks, with little or no play time. When I was at my worst, a month or so after Daryl passed, I sent him to live with Morgan for a few weeks. Now that's all changed and we're each other's constant companions.

Sunday arrived and I decided to go over to introduce myself to the neighbors down on the south end. At least with the elderly couple, my meet and greet were confrontation free. Maggie and I had met for brunch twice already, I'd spent a few mornings shopping downtown and I'd enjoyed a family dinner with Hershel, Annette, Maggie, Glen, Beth and her boyfriend Jimmy. Pa-Pa and even Gram had always had a soft spot for Hershel, especially given our families went way back. In fact, I was pretty sure the entire town had a soft spot for Hershel. He never had an unkind thing to say about anyone, he loves Annette and his children fiercely. It was easy to get caught up in the warmth of his character.

Aside from my social outings, Netflix and Kindle are becoming my main source of home entertainment. I think about all the years of TV binging I'd missed out on now I'm quickly making up for it. Movies and sitcoms I'd longed to see, I've watched in one evening. Books I'd longed to read for years are being read at night before bedtime. It was surreal, yet surprisingly easy to adjust to being work free. It was hard to turn my brain off after living for so long hard-wired on career mode. A few nights ago I made the mistake of watching P.S. I Love You and I went into a full-blown crying spell. It was due…I was alone with no distractions for the first time since Daryl's death. I had a few more crying spells after that, emotionally I felt a like a spring cleaning after a long winter. It's a shame how long I'd put off fully dealing with my grief. I had moved on in so many ways, but in other ways, according to Dr. Monroe, more deep-seeded ways, the pain still needed to be addressed.

Feeling comfortable on my own was a huge start for me. I stretched my aching legs as I stood and turned to face the huge windows. I peered across the woods in the direction of the cabin next door. The column of white smoke was slowly climbing upwards from a chimney obscured by pines. I chewed my lip as I thought about Maggie's words from last week. I hadn't seen or heard from my neighbor since our run in, but now that I was more settled in I was feeling more shameful about how I jumped down his throat. The pruned branches had thankfully disappeared the day after our altercation, never to be seen again.

I went to the kitchen and set my coffee mug down on the counter.

"Let's go for a walking buddy."

* * *

I heard muffled movements from the other side indicating his approach; so I held up the container of fresh snickerdoodle muffins in front of me, displaying what I hoped would be a gracious and repentant smile on my face.

The door swung open and I was suddenly face-to-face with Lumberjack himself. He raised his brow at me keenly as he leaned against the edge of the door. Damn, Maggie was right. He is sexy. He still looked a mess though, that beard had grown out even more. He wore black fleece pajama pants and a brown t-shirt that had certainly seen better days, the shirt had several stains, the neck was stretched and rippled.

"Hello," I smiled brightly at him and when it was apparent he wasn't going to greet me, his mesmerizing cerulean eyes dropped to my Tupperware container and rose slowly back up to meet my gaze.

"Are you here to serve me?" he said suggestively, his accent adding to the charm, the corner of his lip twitching in a very naughty smirk.

"Umm, well...no..." My forehead wrinkled in confusion. "I wouldn't even know your name for the summons. Plus, the petitioner can't be - Oh!" His words finally registered and I let out a nervous giggle. "Oh, right…legal joke… some snickerdoodle muffins." I handed the container over which he accepted, his expression was indifferent. "And I'm sure you can serve yourself."

"What if I told you I was allergic to gluten?"

"Then I'd have to tell you to stop drinking beer and eating pizza." I pointed behind him, the messy kitchen counter was littered with Pizza Hut boxes and Michelob cans.

He out a subdued chuckle, "Would you like to come in? "his eyes creased with mirth as he stepped back opening the door a little wider.

I hesitated, uncertain what to do. I shot a quick glance back to Noah, who I'd tied to the nearest tree by his front patio. He was laying down and happily chewing his rubber ball, completely immersed in the task.

"Sure. I can come in for a minute." I wasn't really planning on a formal visit, but it would be rude to say no at this point. My eyes widened in surprise as I followed him inside. His cabin was nothing like I expected, spacious bright and modern, and almost entirely windows. Apart from all of the confirmation of the messy bachelor living inside it, I liked it.

"Nice place," I said, following him through the kitchen to the living area, doing my best to pay no attention to all the clutter. The living room displayed an amazing view of the lake. It was glistening thanks to the sunshine and snowy mountain peaks. I paused at the windows taking in the view. It was interesting to see the vista of the lake from a slightly different vantage. He moved past me and gathered an armful of scattered papers that took over the long chocolate brown leather sectional and dumped them onto the coffee table next to an open laptop and slouched down onto the reclining section. He lifted one leg up and immediately opened the container helping himself to a muffin, setting the container on his stomach. I moved across from him on the opposite end of the couch, awkwardly observing as he demolished the baked goods in a series of large bites.

"This is good," he said, his mouth stuffed to capacity with muffins.

"Thanks." I unzipped my parka.

"So, I wanted to-"I began, but he cut me off.

"Did you sort out the trees?" he asked. I stiffened at being interrupted, quite annoying, but schooled my features into what Shane, called my courtroom game face. Unwavering, free of emotion.

"On Friday a tree trimming service is coming by to prune back both sides. So that problem is under control."

"Because it's all about the control." There was that bitter cynicism again. He helped himself to another muffin.

"There is nothing wrong with a little order…keeping things under control is…"Listen," I said, taking a deep soothing breath, determined to stay on subject, "I just… I just wanted to apologize for my behavior last week. I could've handled the situation better than I did. I let my temper get the best of me."

"That's not really surprising," he said a little too innocently, focusing on brushing crumbs from his chest onto the floor.

"Excuse me?" I asked when I realized after several long moments that he wasn't going to explain why he wasn't surprised. I took a deep breath willing myself into a calm state.

"Hmm, well let's see, you're what – in your late twenties, early thirties? A lawyer from out of state, probably a big city. Apparently single, no children, since you live alone. I'm sure you're all about the control."

I clamped my jaw, subduing the gasp of outrage that I wanted to release. His tone was light and joking, but at that moment I really didn't give a flying fuck. I immediately stood to my feet and grabbed my coat.

"You know what? I didn't come here to be insulted." I hastily put on my coat. "Usually, when there is a misunderstanding between two people it's common courtesy to apologize to each other."

"You want me to apologize?" he chuckled, raising his arm, letting it rest behind his head, his muscular bicep curling attractively. "I'm not sure I have anything to apologize for."

"Are you kidding me?! You completely mauled one of my trees. Then proceeded to act like a complete ass grenade about it." I grabbed my container off his chest and dumped the contents on him, the leftover muffins plummeting all around. "I'll be taking this, I'm never coming back here again."

"Wait," he said, jumping up, muffins, cinnamon and sugar crumbs rolling off his midsection and onto the floor, he took off quickly to near me, but I kept walking. "I'm sorry." He said, "And you're right. I do owe you an apology. I've been rude and not at all neighborly… But you're very easy to rile up."

"I'm glad I can be such an amusement for you." I spat out in the most venomous tone I could conjure. "I have no idea what the hell you've got going on here," I straightened up and gestured to his beautiful but messy house. "But you've got some nerve…judging me! You don't know a damn thing about me."

"You're right, you're right." He raised his hands in appeal, but I didn't matter. I untied Noah and in anticipation of rubbings, he eagerly began nudging Jackass's hand.

That furry ole traitor!

"Thanks for the muffins Michonne," he said to me while rewarding Noah with soft scratches behind the ears.

I didn't answer because he's not welcome and most of the muffins are on his hardwood floors anyway. I stepped off his porch, gently leading Noah away from him. I cut across his driveway and straight into the thick woods between our cabins.

"My name's Rick, by the way!"

"Good for you!" I yelled back, I'm not sure why, but I didn't want him to have the last word.

The snow was abrasive and grainy, crunching noisily under my step. I kicked a small branch out of the way. What a disaster that was… I stared regretfully at the container in my hand as I hiked back. I mean, it wasn't a kicked- out- the- courtroom and put- on- a -leave -of- absence level of disaster, but I seemed unable of controlling my temper around that man. I sighed. And just when I thought I had gained some emotional stability.


	5. The Witching Hour

_Michonne is hearing things...or is she?_

* * *

Like most nights since arriving, I found myself wide awake and staring at the wooden ceiling beams in the early hours before dawn. At exactly 3 am every morning, I was unable to settle back to sleep. I never had this problem in Atlanta, then again, I was working myself so hard that I practically collapsed from exhaustion every night.

Noah was softly snoring in his doggy bed across the room from me. On our first night here he had dragged the large round cushion he slept on from beside my bed and across the bedroom floor, finally positioning it next to the heating vent. I knew he would have preferred to sleep on my bed, but I couldn't really deal with all the fur.

I don't know why I went outside, but I did. I stepped out onto the porch and peered out into the pitch black forest. It was deathly quiet, the silence only accentuated by the occasional owl hoot and rustle of leaves whispering in the wind. I hated this time of night. I was never fearful living in Atlanta but living in isolation in this cabin in the woods… It caused mayhem with my imagination. A loud cracking sound jolted me from my meditation. It was the sound of a large branch snapping in half, somewhere out in the clearing in front of the house.

I bolted back in, shut the door and locked; a darker voice, deep in my mind cautioned, it could be someone standing out there.

Watching the cabin…watching me...

Looking out into the forest at night through the wide windows in the living area, the sensation of something looking back. My mind raced over the multiple instances over the last week and a half since arriving.

I focused on my breathing, counting out slow measured breaths and utilizing the mindfulness skills Dr. Monroe insisted I practice. It helped a little bit. I let the anxious feeling pass over me, trying to remain aware yet unattached to the emotions and concentrated on the physical sensations I was experiencing. I held my breath. An animal, I reasoned. A perfectly normal sound to hear in the woods at night.

I gasped as a heavy thump resounded followed by the unmistakable sound of footsteps in the snow. The freezing temperatures overnight left the snow hard and icy, so it was impossible to miss the crunch and grind of someone or something walking over it. I couldn't tell if it was human, but whatever it was had a strange gait. It was limping or dragging itself. Fear swelled through me, my fingers stung and burned and my breathing came to a halt as something began pulling itself up the steps leading up to the deck

Thud... Whack...Thump, drag… Whack, drag… Thump, drag…

It definitely didn't sound human, but I couldn't even begin to think what kind of huge animal it was. Scared shit-less, ran upstairs to my room, grabbed my Beretta from the coat closet and the box of slugs that sat on the top shelf. No sane person lived alone in the woods and didn't own a firearm. I jumped back into bed like my life depended on it, switching on my reading lamp as I pulled the covers over me.

"Oh my God!" I gasped, my heart rate accelerating out of control, I simultaneously got sweats and chills down my spine.

With trembling fingers, I pulled the bolt back, loaded a shell, closed the bolt and then loaded the rounds into the magazine underneath. Everything seemed to have gone silent since I'd made my mad dash across the room, but it only took a minute until the noises resumed, this time it sounded as it something was pacing back and forth on the porch. There was a zero percent chance I'd be sleeping anymore tonight. My heart was hammering so hard in my chest I was sure it would burst at any moment. I drew a shaky breath and closed my eyes. The metal of the gun was cold and I focused on the feeling of it in my hand. It was a reminder that I still had control in this situation. I was safe inside and armed. Whatever it was out there was just that – out there. I wondered what Dr. Monroe would think of my mindfulness techniques now.

Pretty sure it never included a loaded 9 millimeter.

I awoke some hours later to Noah licking my nose. Daylight was casting a thin beam of light through the space between the curtains. I perched up from my slumped position, the gun nestled in my lap. I shooed Noah away and rubbed my eyes. I didn't even know when I finally fell asleep, I suppose sometime closer to dawn. Whatever it was stayed outside for nearly an hour before moving on, I guess sleep had claimed me a couple of hours after that.

I stood up, grabbing the gun and parted the curtains, looking out cautiously. It was gray and dreary morning, with more snow on the way judging by the thickness of the clouds. I couldn't see anything suspicious lingering in the yard.

I dressed quickly for outside, tugging off my pajamas and sliding on my jeans, and a cashmere sweater. In the bathroom, I brushed my teeth and washed my face. The whites of my eyes were red and held a wild look in them that I don't remember seeing before. After yanking on my boots, coat, and gloves, I leashed up Noah and brought him outside with me. The pines surrounding the house seemed to loom towards me.

The set of tracks left by last night's animal was immediately apparent. Only a thin layer of snow had softened their appearance. I crouched down, tracing the contours of the print with my fingertip. The cryptic tracks are deep, big, and whatever it was had dragged itself up the three steps that lead onto the area of decking that looked out onto the lake. I shivered at the thought even though there was nothing here now, just the deep gouges of its path in the snow. I followed it along before the tracks to the kitchen window.

Into nothing... It was like it completely disappeared.

Noah came up behind me and nuzzled his nose into the crook of my elbow. I crouched down and gave him a hug, his contact made my speeding heart to relax. My eyes scanned the tree line, looking for anything that might give me a clue.

Maybe it was that fox I'd heard wailing that first night? Maybe it was injured and looking for shelter. Although, that didn't explain the heavy dragging footsteps.

I was exhausted, mentally from the huge adrenaline deposit I experienced the night before and physically from lack of sleep. I stared at the odd footprints until they were permanently etched into my memory.

Without a second thought, I quickly crossed the clearing, stepping carefully over the prints. Noah trotted close beside me, he was just excited to go for a walk. The hard snow made my fast pace easier work than usual and I was practically jogging by the time I reached Rick's cabin.

I knocked for nearly a full minute before the door was finally yanked open, "Do you realize how early it is? I've only been asleep for-" he snapped at me, clearly sleepy and pissed off, his harsh words immediately halted as he took in my appearance and he drew back a step. "Whoa… Michonne...Why...What are you doing with that gun?"

"Oh my..." I gasped, quickly placing the gun into the holster in my coat. "God... sorry..." I could only imagine how I must have looked to him. "I, uh, I had a weird night last night." My voice hitched so I quickly cleared my throat.

"What's wrong? What happened?" His brow furrowed in clear concern, his piercing blues curiously gaging me, causing me to appraise his appearance. He'd shaved his face making him unbelievably more handsome, the definition of his jaw more apparent. It set off the strong line of his nose in an attractive way. I allowed my eyes to trail lower, his chest, arms, and abdomen look amazing, all hard ridges and defined muscles, he clearly worked out. All he wore was a pair of black jeans. I cleared my throat again and folded my arms around me. I wasn't even sure what I was going to say next.

' _Oh hi Rick, don't mind me knocking on your door at 6 AM waving a gun like a lunatic.'_

"I was kept up half the night last night by something heavy pacing and thumping around my yard and front deck." I tried my best to explain as I brushed the back of my hand against the corner of my eyes, quickly wiping away the tear that involuntarily sprung and fell. I leaned into Noah's comforting weight, as he settled against my legs.

"Really? Was it an animal?" his concern morphing into pure exasperation.

I shook my head in response. "I don't think many animals get around solely on two legs." His eyes widened at my response.

"Give me a minute," he said, leaving Noah and me at the doorway as he disappeared up the set of stairs. I noticed the kitchen was tidier than the day before. He returned a few minutes looking more awake, he was dressed, and quickly gliding on his brown jacket that was hanging behind the front door.

"Let's go take a look, then." He grabbed his keys from where they sat on the entry table and pulled the door shut behind him.

"Thank you," I said sheepishly.

"Did you get a look at it?" He asked the curiosity in his voice was apparent.

"No. I have an obscured view of my yard from my bedroom due to the upstairs balcony." I lied, I didn't even think to look out while the commotion was going on.

"What time did you hear the noise?"

"About 3 o'clock, but it didn't leave until nearly an hour later."

"You should have called the police."

"Maybe," I said, nervously chewing on my bottom lip. "I was worried that maybe I was just overreacting. We live a long way for a trip in the middle of the night for nothing." My pride also didn't want Maggie thinking I was going bat-shit insane either. "At least if you take a look you can tell me if it is worth any concern."

He nodded mutely and the anxiety which had been resting like a cloak on my shoulders slowly started lifting. Being around human company added a sense of realism to my situation, the last few hours felt dreamlike. Well, more like a nightmare.

Rick spent nearly ten minutes slowly walking around my yard, following the tracks and examining them closely, he was focused on his task, his lips thinned in concentration. He took a few photos on his cell phone before coming back to me.

"They're almost like hoof prints, but there's something different about these. I have no explanation for why they completely stop and disappear on the deck, whatever it was must have jumped over the railing." We stood awkwardly for a moment, unsure how to proceed. Noah barked and drew our attention, I'm sure he's just as hungry and thirsty as I am.

"Would you like to come in for some breakfast?" I asked. "It's the least I can do for waking you."

"As long as you promise to put that thing away," he pointed to the pocket that held the Beretta. We shared a short but awkward laugh. It served to break a little of the tension. I nodded and we walked around to the main entrance.

Rick watched on curiously as I sat at the dining table and unloaded the gun, placing the shells back into the box. After I returned from storing the gun upstairs, I made myself busy fixing a fresh pot of coffee for us and pulling out everything I'd need to make bacon, eggs, and toast. He followed me into the kitchen and sat on the bar stool across from where I began placing items on the marble island.

"So what brings you to Blue Ridge?" I asked, sneaking a glimpse at him through my eyelashes.

"I'm a writer," he answered, "I rented the cabin for inspiration and to make sure I had no distractions finishing the current edition I'm working on."

"So what kind of stuff do you write?" I asked reaching into the cabinets, drawers and set out two plates, cloth napkins, and silverware onto the counter.

"Fiction, crime fiction to be exact. I've hit the best seller's list two times with The Witching Hour in 2005 and Broken Path in 2008; both books made it to number one for a few months. The Witching Hour is still on the top 100 best sellers list to date. I picked up a book contract with Random House and moved to New York in 2007. The US was the biggest market for my first novel. Richard Andrew Grimes is my full name. Have you read any of my work?"

"I haven't," I answered smiling over my shoulder. "Way too busy to sit down and read anything but dispositions and legal books." I turned back to the stove, placing the bacon in the frying pan. "But now, I have all the time in the world." I salt and pepper the egg batter and gave it a good whisk before I turned to him and asked, "So have you written much since?"

"Yeah, I wrote Wishes May Lie in 2010 but it was of moderate success," He shrugged and sipped his coffee when he placed his cup down, I asked him to get the fireplace going while I finished up cooking.

When breakfast was done, I refilled our coffee cups and we sat on opposite ends of my couch with our meals, the flames warming us while we ate.

"So, what's your story?" He asked, between mouthfuls of food.

"My story?" I forked a mouthful of eggs, it was warm, buttery and delicious.

"Yes, what events in your life have shaped the person before me today," he asked gesturing to the room in a slight circular motion with his fork. "High powered lawyer giving up the city life for snow and furry companionship." "You've got to have a story behind that, so what is it?"

"I'm an associate working in civil rights law, I'd hardly call that high powered." I placed my fork down on the plate I was balancing on my cloth napkin clad lap. "Besides, my story is long and sad."

"Well, long stories are my thing, besides I have quite a bit of day left thanks to you, so go one with it." He smirked, leaning back in his seat.

"Well… Okay, you've been warned." I took a deep breath before I began. "My husband of seven years died a little over a year ago, and instead of dealing with his death I drowned myself in my work and basically had a nervous breakdown during a discrimination trial about six months ago. My boss, who is also a family friend and my mentor, basically told me unless I take a substantial amount of time off he would fire me."

"I'm sorry about your husband. How did he die?" he was inclined to back against the corner of the couch, one elbow supported on the back of it, his food forgotten.

A gratified smile emerged across my lips. He had such a matter-of-fact and straight-forward manner. It was refreshing, I couldn't think of a single person who came right out and asked me how Daryl died even when it was brought up in casual conversation. They always tip-toed around the subject politely; with that look of burning curiosity in their eyes. It pissed me off every time.

"He owned a construction company with his older brother. There was an accident on one of the sites, the roof collapsed on him, crushing his skull and killing him instantly. With the payout from his life insurance, I was able to buy back my family cabin and renovate it...Now here I am."

"The place looks great," he said with a warm smile.

"Well, I guess all the noise during the renovations were worth it, then?" I shot back and he chuckled.

"Indeed. I'm fascinated by the history of the cabin alone; you've returned to somewhere meaningful after dealing with so much… it's inspiring."

Noah had been slowly creeping closer to Rick during my entire speech and was now resting his snout along Rick's boots giving him the starving -puppy- face. Rick yielded and leaned forward to give him a good chin scratch.

"Don't mind him, he has a bowl full of Purina in the kitchen. He's just an ole bacon panhandler." I warned him.

Our conversation wandered on to lighter topics: his impressions of living in New York for nearly a decade, his experiences of his own family cabin in Oxfordshire compared to here. I even recounted a few funny narrations of vacations spent at Blue Ridge Lake. Turns out Rick is good company... When he wasn't being a jackass.

A little after 10 AM we said our goodbyes and as I walked him to the door, he suddenly paused. His hand resting lightly on the doorknob. A few seconds passed like he was thinking something over before he turned to face me.

"Michonne, I have a bit of a confession to make," he said, his British accent accentuating his demeanor, yet his expression and those stunning blue eyes are completely unreadable.

"Oh?"

"When you caught me hacking away at your tree, I was actually taking out my frustration. You see, I truly had intended to prune the branches back," He rubbed the back of his neck, "The tree had left a nasty scratch on my SUV, but I truly didn't mean to murder it."

"Oh...well, its water under the bridge…You have a nice Range Rover, I'd be upset too."

"That's not the entire reason for my frustration," his face slightly reddening, "I haven't had any inspiration for this next book, even though this area and my cabin are the perfect backdrops, I'd been working on chapter one for months. Then you arrive, stalking up your driveway, full of fire and ice - it was the probably the most exciting conversation I've had since I got here. The others around here are so predictable...normal... but after our confrontation, I wrote seven chapters. And then I saw all those branches you kicked over to my driveway and the words just kept on flowing. So when you came over yesterday with the muffins…" He chuckled nervously.

"Oh my God!" I huffed. "You knew I was trying to apologize and you spurred me on...for writing stimulation!"

"Hey - writer's block is seriously the worst..."

"You really are a jackass."

"I don't think you really mind me at all." He raised a brow at me.

"Did I mention arrogant?" I scoffed. I crossed my arms over my chest and leveled a scathing look at him, trying my hardest to keep the smile I felt on the inside from emerging. His confession, while surprising, really didn't bother me, it actually explained his behavior.

"Oh please, keep going," he chuckled. "At this rate, I'll be finished my book in a month."

"You're dismissed." I opened the door for him and grabbed his bicep, physically walking him outside onto the porch.

Before he left, he made me save his number in my cell in case I had any more unusual events.

"If you'd like a late night visit from me, I can light that fire of yours anytime." He wiggled his eyebrows provocatively, a distinctive leer in his eyes and I felt the early stages of a blush tingling my cheeks.

"Save the cheesy lines for your next book." I rolled my eyes.

He shot a wink at me and set off towards the woods with a casual wave.

"Ouch!Fire and Ice Michonne, fire and ice..."

I rolled my eyes again in response before shutting the front door.


	6. I Can't Explain It

Michonne has more guest than expected for dinner...

* * *

I kept myself busy during the day, preparing meals, chopping and stacking logs in the woodshed, shoveling snow, taking walks with Noah, and reading Rick's first novel which I'd downloaded onto my Kindle.

I'd taken to going to bed at 8 PM each night so that my sleeplessness wouldn't affect me too much. I still got the 'being watched' feeling but chalked it up to the night that I heard the noises and saw the footprints. It was easier than trying to work out exactly what had happened that night. I'd analyzed it over and over, still couldn't come up with a plausible theory that made complete sense.

On Saturday, I'd been into town and back, picked up the last bits and pieces I needed for the meal I was cooking for Maggie and Glen tonight.

When I got back home that afternoon, the skies decided it was time to bring out the sunshine, the first spell I'd seen for a few days, and it gave me a needed boost to my state of mind.

I finally got around to hooking up Daddy's record player and put on one of his favorites, an old Steve Wonder record from the 70's. I fell into a happy rhythm moving room to room through the cabin, cleaning, and dusting.

I'd hardly found myself thinking of Daryl, a realization that came with a large spoonful of guilt. I owed his mom a call too, I'd promised to keep in touch while I was in Blue Ridge, but our conversations were always wooden and dismal. The only thing we really had in common these days was her dead son. I decided I'd call her next week and maybe in the meantime print some photos to put up on the living room mantel. Maybe a small framed wedding photo of Daryl and me, a few of the scanned photos of my childhood at the cabin with Mom and Dad, a family portrait of Morgan, Carol, little Duane, Sophia, and Papa and Gram's wedding portrait. It felt like a way I could still acknowledge and respect my past with Daryl without having to feel guilty about him not overwhelming my thoughts.

I was chopping herbs, vegetables, and seasoning the rack of lamb; I set everything in pans and was wiping down the countertop, the front door swung open and hit the wall with a bang. It made me jump and Noah sprung up from his spot by the fire, began whining as he scurried over to me, his tail between his legs.

I hurried over to shut it quickly, trying to prevent any more heat from escaping; the sound I heard caused my breath to halt and I froze mid-step. The door slammed shut, the latch slowly turned in its bracket and the accompanying squeak as the door opened all the way again, this time slowly. Fear ran through me like an icy bolt of lightning.

I am not sure how much time had passed, it felt like an eternity.

Eventually, the fear subsided, and once I felt ready, I checked the front door...

It was still shut...

So I got on with it, turning my attention to getting ready for my company tonight. I still had things to do before G and Mags arrived and it wasn't in my nature to just collapse in a heap and simply stop. So much so it was probably a fault of mine, but I was a Jones, so I picked myself up and kept going.

I dressed in a fuchsia colored sweater dress with black leggings and black ankle boots. I returned downstairs, summoning all my inner resilience and sternly telling myself I had nothing to worry about. Whether the door swung open by unnatural forces or by a sudden burst of wind, or even only in my own imagination, I'd be damned if I'd ever be scared to move about my own damn house.

I put on a different record, Donnie Hathaway, began setting the table and turning the golden potatoes that were roasting in the oven and putting on some greens to steam. The rosemary lamb still needed a little longer but smelled divine. Afterward, I opened a bottle of Merlot so it could have a chance to air and left it on the dining table along with three wine glasses. I didn't know if aerating red wine really made a difference, but G always made a point to air wines when hosting dinner parties at his home. I paused at the dining room window to look out at the lake. The sun was setting, the soft hues of yellow and orange, fusing as the sun dipped below the horizon made me smile. Taking it in, I felt thankful that even after all the loss I'd experienced in my life, I could still appreciate all the good left to see in the world.

Maggie and Glen arrived an hour later, just as the sourdough rolls were being pulled.

The food was delicious, the entire dinner was a family recipe passed down to me by Gram, and the three of us chatted, reliving our glory days – summers swimming at the lake, camping in the woods, the typical teenage drama, and angst.

Maggie talked a little about the missing girl's case she's working on. Her fingers pulling on the edges of her cloth napkin as she expressed her frustration. She invited me to ride along for one of the interviews she was conducting this coming Wednesday over in Bellevue, the next town over. We'd originally planned to meet for lunch in town, but she promised me there was an amazing barbecue place we had to try out near the Hilltop Mall.

Glenn Rhee and his family vacationed in Blue Ridge from Brooklyn most summers, he met Maggie at Otis's drug store in town trying to buy beer with his older brothers ID, and the two instantly fell for each other. I knew they'd end up together.

We finished off the second bottle of wine by the fire and I notice Glenn rubbing his eyes and yawning, indicating the night was over. We said our good-nights and Maggie and I solidified our plans for the week.

"Chonne, I worry about you all alone up here." She held her goodbye hug tightly before releasing me.

"I'm not on my own. I've got Rick just next door."

"Oh, you've got him now, my have things changed!" She shot back with her hands gripped firmly on my shoulder. The grin on her face big and wide like a Cheshire cat.

"Don't be ridiculous...Mags" I said, rolling my eyes. "We're on good terms now; I'm glad I took your advice and went and apologized to him. He gave me his number in case I need him."

"Oh really," She purred erotically, "I can only imagine how he wants you to need him."

"Get a grip girl," I said with a laugh. "I don't think he's interested and neither am I'm... I'm focusing on myself right now."

"He's hot, Chonne. I'd be all over that if I could."

"Maggie!" I yelped and turned to Glen, who was leaning against the coat closet door, holding her coat in one hand and swing the car keys in the other, chuckling right along with her. "Can you please control your wife? She's clearly tipsy."

"She's the Sheriff, you really think she lets me control anything in this marriage?"

* * *

 _ **Later that night...**_

I refilled Noah's kibble bowl and he trotted over from his spot by the fire to eat. I patted his head twice, before slipping on my boots and overcoat I hung up by the kitchen door for my trips to collect wood. I had a wheelbarrow set beside the garage and walked it over to the woodshed, loading it up with enough wood to last me until morning. Massive white and gray clouds were moving in from the north, not surprising since the weather stated a snowstorm would be hitting sometime later tonight. Nights like this reminded me of the excitement I felt going to sleep as a kid during snowstorms, knowing when we'd wake up in the morning we'd be completely surrounded by the white fluff. Those Christmases were always the best, especially when Mom and Dad were still alive.

I loaded up the wood and steered the barrow back towards the house, guiding the wheel into the slender channel worn into the snow and dirt from previous trips. Cold fingers, like icy claws, wrapped themselves around my ankle, under the fur of my boots and lining of my tights. A stunned bellow escaped my lips as the large hand squeezed tight like a vice and yanked.

My feet slid from under me, my face slammed down onto the logs in the wheelbarrow. I landed heavily on the ground, logs tumbling all around me knocking the wind out of me. I climbed on my hands and knees, pain blistering from my stomach and face. I tried urgently to catch my breath, my vocal cords discharging a strangled cry with every inhale and exhale. I fumbled my way back towards the garage on all fours, until the pain in my stomach subsided. Blood was trickling fast from my nose, dotting the snow below me.

As I stood, my choked rasping mutated into a sob. I was too scared to look back to see what had grabbed me, the thought had me sprinting as best I could, clutching my stomach in a hunched position. I made it into the garage and through the door into the kitchen, slamming it shut. I turned the lock and rummaged incompetently with the garage door remote sitting on the bench beside the door. It clattered to the floor and I fell to my knees crying, but still managing to press the switch to close the garage up.

I raced up the stairs and retrieved the Beretta, loading it and then heading straight back to the kitchen. I slackened my approach and raised the gun, pointing the barrel directly at the door. I flipped the safety but left my finger on the trigger. I whispered a silent prayer that nothing had made its way into the garage in the brief window of time between me getting into the kitchen and closing the garage.

I would shoot if I had too…

I unlocked the door and slightly pulled it open, I pushed it the rest of the way with my toe keeping my aim and grip on my gun. I struggled to calm my breathing as much as I could, heavy breathing will mess up my aim and I plan on hitting the target. I flicked the light on and the bright fluorescent flickered to life, the fresh smell of paint and recent construction had not yet faded. I first crouched checking under the truck and then walking around it.

There was nothing there…

I locked the door again, making sure it was secure before, setting the safety back on I placed my gun on the counter.

I limped to the bathroom to tend to my face, the bleeding in my nose had subsided and I began dabbing at my split lip with a damp washcloth. I'd split it with my teeth when I fell. Luckily, no real damage to my nose and my teeth were intact. I tested my nose delicately with my fingers. Even if there's a little fracture there, nothing can be done but leaving it to heal. My chin was covered in splinters, so I began conducting surgery using tweezers, pulling out the splinters one at a time.

After tidying up and letting Noah out for a quick minute on his leash to do his business, I curled up in bed. It was past midnight and the snow was falling thick and steadily, the wind whistling and hooting through the trees.

I set up my laptop on the bedside and put a comedy on Netflix. I zoned out before the opening credits began, my brain finally addressing what happened outside and earlier in the evening. I'd shoved both incidents, the door, and the fall, to the back of my mind and instead focused on the successful dinner with Glenn and Maggie.

Eventually, I fell asleep.


	7. The Death Of Me

_Michonne rides along with Maggie for the day..._

* * *

Rick began texting me to check in throughout the day. I appreciated his concern, and his flirting always brightens my day. It was hilarious shutting him down, a thrill would shoot through my stomach every time my phone chimed. I knew he was enjoying the back and forth too since his pick-up lines were getting more shameless.

I met Maggie at the police station first thing Wednesday morning for our drive out to Bellevue. Thankfully, the few days previous had been incident free. Jacqui's barbecue joint had amazing food just as Maggie had promised. Even the venue was amazing, the décor hilariously and purposefully gaudy, the owner Jacqui Prescott is just as spicy as the food, as sassy as the décor.

"How's the case going?" I asked, Maggie, she was deep in thought as she nibbled at her pulled pork sandwich.

She shook her head. "Horrible- How can I find something that's just not fucking there? No new leads, no witnesses, hardly any evidence."

"Did the new DNA testing show anything?"

"They said the samples are too badly degraded, the results are inconclusive. All we have are tire impressions from the highway, shoe prints, but no person or vehicle to match them too." She let off a hopeless sniff. "That Highway along 95 is known for its share of unsolved disappearances."

"Yeah," I said, nodding slowly, "I've heard about it; a series of unsolved murders where girls went missing along the long stretch highway."

Maggie nodded, her soft features displayed pure turmoil. "There are likely multiple murderers responsible. So far, only one guy was convicted a few years back for one of them; he was a trucker, from Canada."

"Damn, an out-of-town trucker would be next to impossible to find."

"Exactly!" she huffed with bated breath, "Needle meet the fucking haystack... I know the girls from Blue Ridge and Bellevue linked, Quantico confirmed the tire prints came from the same vehicle, but the Roanoke girls are a little harder to link to the highway. Plus, they all went missing during summertime. Lots of people coming in and out of town then." She groaned in frustration and dropped her head into her hands. "Chonne, I have no idea how I'm going to find out what happened to those girls."

"Focus on what you have, you're the pair of fresh eyes drunk ass Bob wished he could have had back then. You'll find the linkage somewhere between all the disappearances, you just haven't seen it yet."

She peered at me, her eyes full of worry, her smile laced with apprehension. "That's why I love you girl. Nothing- no one can ever put a damper on your day."

It was a silent drive back to the police station, the lighthearted mood from earlier was long gone. I didn't need to ask, I knew that the lead in Bellevue must have been a dead end.

We said our goodbyes and I headed to Hershel's store. There were a dozen or so patrons in the store, most of whom were in the small cafe snacking, sipping coffee or talking quietly to one another. Mostly older people hang out at the General Store, the younger crowd prefer Sasha's and her free WiFi and espresso shots.

"Miiichooone…" A voice rasped in sing-song from somewhere behind me. "Miiichooone..."

I turned sharply on my heel to see who was calling.

"Miiiiichoooone, with the light, Michonne, and her light."

I spotted my caller.

An old woman in the corner, seated at the high-top table in the corner. She was dressed in a black sweater and a gray corduroy overall dress, that seemed to engulf her; her snow-white hair like a curly crown around her head. She lifted a small hand beckoning me with a finger, her knuckles swollen and arthritic.

"Hello," I said when I approached. "Do I know you?"

"We've never met, but I know someone that knows you very well."

I looked over at Rosita who had just come in to relieve Tara.

"No, not her. It's someone you're quite familiar with. I'm playing Solitaire, be a doll and sit with me."

I looked at the door but Hershel had not come from the back freezer. I'd called ahead of time and had him prepare my food order, so I obliged the old woman and sat in the chair opposite her. Her frail hands could barely thumb the cards onto the table and it was clear she wasn't playing any kind of solitaire that I'd seen. She either had dementia or some screws loose. The cards, while neat, were in no particular order, flipped the wrong way and in the wrong places.

"I'm on a 12 game streak," she declared, lifting her chin proudly.

"That's good. Congratulations... So, who is it that we both know?" I couldn't help it. I was curious. She moistened her bottom lip with her tongue and let out a raspy giggle.

"I've been patiently waiting for my turn, but he's keeping me holdin' on. That's fine, I can wait for a little while. I like Solitaire."

"I'm sorry, ma'am. Who?"

"You really don't know, he's always with you, trailing close behind ...Your whole life... Look - an ace!" She yelp, her old voice crackled. She placed the three of hearts triumphantly on top of the last pile. She clearly wasn't lucid. I pushed my chair back with my feet, getting ready to stand up.

"It's death," she rasped. I stilled, my stomach turning, I followed her movements as she quickly gathered up the cards and began shuffling.

"You know him, and he knows you. You follow him, he follows you." She spoke in such a simple and decisive tone while dealing the cards into their respective piles.

"I'm going now, my order is ready." I had to take a breath before I stood, pushing my chair back in, I felt my knees slacken.

"He wants you to know you've got others. Your enemies, the collector and the prince. They are drawn to your light and have latched on, but they can only watch you...for now...Death is one, but not a singular. There are many, doll, and they all want you..."

"Sure," I replied. I spared a second glance to the old woman as I walked away. She didn't seem to notice Hershel and I depart. Outside I watched her from the window as Hershel loaded my truck. I felt glued to the spot, watching as the old woman became absorbed with her game, her eyes glazing, either unaware or ignoring my presence. I felt a warm hand on my shoulder and I jumped.

"Hey, Chonne. Everything alright?" Hershel asked.

I nodded, unable to pull my eyes away from the old woman.

"Well, Mr. Green, I was wondering if you could tell me who the lady is seated in the corner over there." I pointed in the woman's direction since she was no longer paying me any mind.

"Dolores?" Herschel answered knowingly. "Did she start rambling? Pay no mind to her. She's a character, sweet when she wants to be, but doesn't make a whole lot of sense most of the time." He closed the truck and gave me a nod before heading back inside. "See ya next week Chonne."

* * *

I lamented over the morning spent at Bellevue. The woman Maggie questioned and her empty smile, her life forever paused on that night in 1995 when she opened her daughter's bedroom door and discovered her gone. But it was Dolores and her cards that dominated my thoughts.

The sensible, rational part of my brain assured me her words were the ramblings of an old woman whose mind had become nonsensical with old age. But I couldn't deny I was deeply affected by them, it struck the hidden, most vulnerable part of me. That part was the small girl who had lost her parents to a horrible boating accident in The Florida Keys. The young woman who held her Gram's cold hand as she slipped away after battling breast cancer one humid Atlanta' evening; only to have her sweet Papa suddenly die of a massive heart attack a year later. My mind envisioned a shadow of a woman slumped over her husbands perfectly groomed corpse at a packed memorial service.

Maybe there was some truth to the old woman's words. In my 35 years of life, I had experienced a lot of death.

By the time I got home and had hauled my shopping bags from the truck into my kitchen, Noah was eagerly sniffing and getting under my legs. I crouched down to greet him, sighing into his neck, that's when I realized I was drained, I could've gone to bed even though it was only mid-afternoon. Instead, I took my buddy for a short walk through the woods throwing the ball for him, the wind was icy, blowing down off the mountain peaks and by the time I got home I aroused enough energy to get stuck into preparing my meals for the following week.

As I peeled, chopped, steamed, baked, and sautéed my way through three different recipes the doorbell rang. I brushed my hands off on my apron and got to the door.

"You weren't answering your phone or replying to my texts," Rick explained gruffly. He brushed past me into the living room, pulling off his coat as he went.

"Please, Rick, won't you come in?" I said sarcastically, swinging the door closed.

"Why didn't you answer your phone?" he asked while taking a seat on the arm of the couch, unlacing his boots.

I fished my cell phone from my handbag, there were 3 missed calls and 3 text messages. I'd turned my phone on silent when I went to the interview with Maggie and then forgotten all about it.

"It's been on silent all day. I went into Bellevue with Maggie to help her with something." I returned to the kitchen and got back to chopping my carrots and potatoes.

"I see," He sat himself down on the island bench and took in the disarray of the kitchen."It makes me feel better knowing you're okay."

"I'm fine." I tried to assure him and myself. "It's okay. Really. There's no need to rush over to check on me." I offered him a tentative smile which he mirrored.

"You planning on feeding the Blue Ridge football team tonight?"

"No silly. I cook my meals in advance for the week." I pointed to the neat stack of containers by the sink that was waiting to be filled with food.

"That's…" he seemed momentarily at a loss for words.

"Sad?" I laughed. "Yeah, it's lame. But cooking for one is a hassle because most of the food ends up being wasted."

"I wasn't going to say that," he protested. "It's not something I'd ever think to do. Your organizational skills are quite impressive."

"Sure they are." I rolled my eyes and began placing the vegetables in the crock-pot. "Finish any more chapters?"

"Yes, nearly done with my final chapters, but I've slowed a bit, I haven't seen you for a couple of days." He smiled with a suggestive wink accompanied by a naughty flick of his tongue

"Hungry?" I asked, purposely sidestepping his comment as I stirred the ingredients in the pot, it was all I could do to stave off the swarm of butterflies in my stomach.

"Always." He replied, with another wink. Damn, he has the prettiest eyes.

"I picked up a 24 pack." I pulled out two bottles of Michelob Ultra from the fridge, uncapping them and handed one over to him.

"You know me well," he said, taking a long sip.

"I've seen your house. I know the extent of your beer habit."

"Hey!" he pouted. "I'd cleaned up the second time you saw my place."

"You did a good job, I love the smell of Pine-sol." I clinked my beer against his and took a draw. He looked a little taken aback before chuckling.

Soon the spinach tomato tortellini soup was ready and I made us a bowl.

"Oh this is heavenly," he said after just one mouthful.

"I know. It gets even better after a day or so."

"How much would it take to bribe you into making my meals in advance?"

"You can't afford it," I said with a laugh, "But I'll be sweet and send you home with some more soup for tomorrow."

"Thank you, so how have things been here the last couple of days?" he said once he could draw himself away from the soup bowl.

"Fairly normal until today." I recounted the details of my morning with Maggie without going into too many details about Maggie's case. I gave him a little rundown on the cases of the missing girls since he'd never heard about them. He seemed genuinely interested.

I then went on to tell him about the weird encounter with Dolores, her calling me from across the room, her warning, and solitaire game, what Hershel said about her.

"I feel a bit silly for how much it freaked me out."

"Michonne, most people would be freaked out by that, especially after everything you've experienced here it would've been strange if you didn't feel freak out."

I sipped my beer, lost in thought. I supposed he had a point. He stood up and walked into the kitchen, returning with two more beers and the notepad and pen I kept on the counter.

"Tell me exactly what she said – word for word." He flipped the notepad open to a blank page and looked at me expectantly.

"Um… let me think." I closed my eyes, picturing the woman's face, the sure way in which her gnarled hands thumbed the playing cards. "'You know death, he knows you. You follow him, he follows you.' Then she said 'The collector is attracted to my light and uh latched onto it. There are many deaths.' or something like that. I can't remember very clearly. The whole thing was very surreal."

Rick let out a puff of air. "Indeed...surreal indeed..."

"Oh! She also said something about the prince and collector watching me."

"Okay." He jotted that down too.

"You really think this is worth writing down?"

"I think all of it is worth writing down. Everything you've experienced." His eyebrow quirked upwards. "I want a chronicle, something to reference."

"I highly doubt this morning is related to anything else that's been happening to me."

He nodded in a way that let me know he thought otherwise and began clearing our empty bowls from the table. We tidied up the kitchen; I rinsed the dishes and we packed the dishwasher, I washed the pots and pans, and Rick dried them. While Rick was drying the last pan, l walked out to the living room which had now darkened. I switched on the floor lamps on either side of the couch and moved to the fire. I'd neglected it for the last two hours and it was burning out. I crouched beside it, stoking up the coals before throwing a few more logs on.

"Do you want to stay for a movie?" I called over my shoulder. "There's this dumb Will Ferrell movie that keeps popping up on my Netflix recommends list. Might be funny."

I stood up and squealed when I turned and found Rick standing right behind me.

"Hey! You can't sneak up on me like that!" I placed a hand on my chest to slow my racing heart.

He smiled down at me, his skin glowing a warm shade of gold from the reflection of the flames. He lifted his hands to my face, his forefingers silently tracing a path up along my cheekbones. "I like you, Michonne." His voice was low making his accent more pronounced. I suddenly found myself hyper-aware of everything, my body, the heat of the flames against the back of my calves, the way my chest rose and fell with each breath, Rick's eyes as they flickered back and forth searching mine, the curve of his bottom lip, the pricks of stubble that graced his cheeks and strong jaw.

"You like me?" I breathed. I knew this - I really did. But hearing him say it still surprised me.

"Haven't I made that obvious?" he said leaning down to breathe the words into my ear. The sound sent a careening jolt of sensation from deep within my chest to between my legs. I faltered, taking a step back and Rick steadied me with a firm grip of his hand around my upper arm.

"Look, Rick, I – 'm not sure I… I don't think–"I stumbled over my words, not sure exactly what I was trying to say or what I even wanted. I drew a ragged breath. I liked him and wanted him, but the difference between having a crush on him to actually engaging in… something felt like an emotionally unattainable goal.

"It's fine," he said, his soft lips pursed into a tense smile. He stepped back releasing my arm. "It's time for me to head home."

I watched silently as he carefully tore his notes from the notepad, folding the page neatly into a square and into the back pocket of his jeans. He pulled on his boots from where he'd took them off earlier by the couch and grabbed his coat. I felt frozen in place, trapped by the world's longest, most awkward moment.

"Thanks for checking on me," I managed to say.

"Of course, thank you for the amazing meal. Keep your phone in silent mode." He walked through the front door, pulling it closed gently behind him.

I sank down into the couch cushions, staring unfocused and unseeing at the fireplace.

What had just happened?

My heart tightened at the thought I may have ruined whatever burgeoning friendship we'd created.

How was he even interested in me?

He's so hot, so sure of himself, funny as hell, and me? Well… I managed to keep myself going, functioning...I sleep with a nine millimeter within reach, I felt sure I was on the verge of a mental breakdown and worse still, I felt too far gone, too jaded from losing almost everyone I loved in my life.

I'm a fucking mess.

Moving on romantically for the first time after Daryl wasn't the biggest issue, it was the reality that by opening my heart to someone new, was also exposing myself to the risk of losing another person. I knew I couldn't cope with that again, I just couldn't.


	8. All We Know

Rick and Michonne spend a day together...

* * *

As soon as I woke on Sunday I knew I avoided the middle of the night insomnia, at least for one more night.

But Rick's expression was still burned on the back of my retinas, that fleeting look of hurt that crossed his features when I rejected him last night.

Was I being a total moron?

My libido was jack-rabbiting around and practically screaming yes, it had gone virtually ignored for nearly a year and a half, but my brain was urging me to pump the brakes and slow the hell down. I knew it was a reflex born of self-preservation, but it was hard to function or know how to proceed feeling so torn.

After a light breakfast, I showered, dressed and slipped straight back into another set of pajamas. I set up camp on the couch with my coffee, Kindle, and the record player going. Noah settled on the couch beside me, resting his head on my curled legs. We'd gained four inches of snow overnight; the sky, a passive shade of silver and gray. I got the fire roaring again using the reserve stack of firewood I kept in the garage. The wood was kept there for any days I was truly snowed in. Besides, the thought of walking back to the woodshed after what happened there left me feeling uneasy.

I was delightfully surprised when Rick came by, knocking excitedly at the glass sliding doors of the living room which leads onto the deck. His face was lit with excitement, skis in one hand, and poles in the other. His cheeks and nose red and ruddy from the cold.

"It snowed!" he yelled out when I slid open the door.

"I know." I laughed at his enthusiasm and stepped aside to let him in. It was as if the last part of our night never happened. I was perfectly fine with that.

"I'm going cross-country skiing. I've packed snacks and supplies. Will you join me?" He dropped his backpack to the floor. "I brought a thermos… I'm hoping you can fill it with your splendid coffee, mine is bitter muck." He pulled off his boots, his movements loose and bouncy, like a puppy who was promised a walk.

Noah caught on and bounded across to him demanding cuddles and attention. Rick complied, dropping down to wrestle around with him. I wish caffeine still had that effect on me.

"How old did you say you were again?" I giggled, fishing the empty thermos that was sticking out from the side pocket of his pack.

"Thirty-nine." He shot a grin at me, I giggled again.

"That was rhetorical question silly...so, how goes the writing?" I poured us a cup of coffee and began making a new pot for the thermos.

"Very well, my agent is impressed. She called my latest chapter 'inspiring'. And getting a compliment from her is like drawing blood from a stone. The fact she offered it freely is quite encouraging."

"Well, then I'm impressed too. I'm glad I could be your muse. Just let me know if your inspiration starts dwindling and I'll be more than happy to grace you with another Michonne Jones patented temper tantrum." I crinkled my face into a fake scowl.

"Don't tempt me." His raspy tone sent a shiver through me and I felt a blush burn my cheeks. He held my gaze as he heaped a teaspoon of sugar into his coffee, stirring slowly. Good lord, I needed to be careful around this man.

After my cup of coffee, I dressed in some warm but light outdoor clothing and I found Rick crouched by the record player, rifling through the box of records.

"You like blues?" he asked.

"Sure, but those are all my Dad's records. He was into blues, jazz, and some classic rock… That kind of stuff. I'm enjoying listening to it all again."

"I'm not so sure about this one, though." He held up a Michael McDonald record.

"Don't you dare disrespect The Mac, he's the foundation of blue-eyed soul."

"I won't speak," he said lifting his hands in a mock plea, "but just know my opinion of you has been called into question." He chuckled when I poked my tongue out at him.

"You knew where my skis were?" I asked, sitting down on the couch to put on my socks and boots. Rick had retrieved my ski gear from the coat closet and neatly stacked my skis, poles, and boots against the couch ready for me.

"I may have poked around a little when you were cooking breakfast the other day," he admitted with not a shred of shame.

"Snooping around is rude, you know." I rolled my eyes at him.

"I was curious, you keep everything so tidy." he shrugged, "so will you go with me...skiing that is." We shared a long look. He was trying to implore me with his eyes. Those damned gorgeous blue eyes. I screwed the lid on the thermos and handed it over to him.

"Fine." I agreed, I liked and needed the distraction. "But no yapping once we hit the slopes."

* * *

There is nothing like the feeling of skiing down the slopes with the rush of the wind against your face as the light of the sun permeates the winter sky resonating a glow that showcases the picturesque snow-covered mountain peaks perched in the distance. Although you feel the chill in the air you can't help but appreciate the splendor of it all as you glide effortlessly down the trail of snow and ice. This makes for a wonderful visual landscape that is breathtaking to watch as you ski the mountainous terrain navigating through the snow weaving and passing the other skiers.

A few hours later I'd offered to make us lunch and of course, Rick was all for it. I snacked on the trail-mix he provided as we trekked the long-hiked back to the cabin. He told me a little of his childhood in England. Summers and weekends spent at the family cottage were what he missed the most. He and his older brother Lincoln never seemed to get along, but once they crossed the threshold of the family cottage they would become inseparable for the entire vacation, causing mischief and battling in wars with the other children in the area. His brother was now a political adviser for the social democrats in London, married with one child, a daughter. His parents remained in Oxfordshire, his mother a retired literature professor, his father a mechanical engineer.

I liked watching him speak, he had such an easy manner but underneath I had the sense every sentence was carefully considered, every word held significance, even if it was a joke or casual comment. He didn't say it unless he meant to say it and wanted me to hear it. I wondered if it was due to his profession.

It reminded me a little of a philosophy lecturer from a class I took back in my undergrad days. Professor Jenner had spent a good part of the semester discussing how speaking without meaning was a waste of words.

I went upstairs to change while Rick schlepped off his gear and jacket right in the entryway.

We met each other in the kitchen and I began warming the minestrone soup. After which, I pulled out the ingredients for the sandwiches. I sliced the soft baguette open lengthwise. Spreading one side with an even coat of the Dijon mustard and layering slices provolone cheese, diced tomatoes, shredded lettuce and deli-style ham onto the baguette. Once the soup was warm we dug right in.

"Tell me about your husband."

I looked up from my sandwich in surprise, wiping a stray crumb from the corner of my lip.

"What would you like to know?"

"I'm not sure. The type of person he was. How you met. That sort of thing, or really whatever you'd like to share." He leaned forward to grab his glass of tea and took a sip. I finished the last few bites of my sandwich, looking out the window at the landscape from the direction we came.

"We started dating the night I finished my bar exams. We'd known each other for years before that; he was a friend of Morgan's, so he was around a lot before I left for law school in Atlanta.

"I finished law school and came back, it was summer so I saw him a little. It was clear we had a thing for each other, but I was so busy studying for the bar exam, which in Atlanta is intense. So, I basically avoided him the whole time. I couldn't have any distractions. On the final night of examinations, he was waiting at my hotel with a bunch of roses and we..."

"Were you happy together?"

"Yeah, mostly. But we were both workaholics." I shrugged, taking a sip of water. "He took over Merle Senior's construction company after he passed. We both were working between 60 and 80 hours a week. We were ships passing in the night a lot of the time. Especially towards the end. We fought about it a lot. He wanted me to cut back my hours, he wanted to start a family… Things I wanted too, but later. I wanted to be made partner first. I worked so hard in my career, to make something of myself. For the first time in my life, I had financial independence. I loved my work. I thought there'd be time for kids and settling later… It's maybe the biggest regret of mine. The fact he never got to experience that joy in the time he was alive."

"You can't blame yourself for that. I'm sure he would have regretted leaving you widowed with children."

"You're right," I said with a sigh. "I know getting caught up in what-ifs is a useless endeavor. I can accept things for how they are. I miss him, but at the same time, it feels like another lifetime ago. Especially now that I'm here…" I looked across at him and I shrugged while trying to smile. "Okay, that's enough morbid talk, tell me a little about your life in the big apple."

"What's to tell?" he leaned back into the couch, his legs stretching out.

"I don't know… What area do you live in? What do you do when you're not writing?"

"I bought a brownstone in Brooklyn with the proceeds of my first novel and the signing bonus from my contract. It's a nice neighborhood, artsy and a good vibe. There's a fun social scene in Brooklyn for people in the arts. Parties, niche events, openings. But I've grown tired of it. It's charming at first, you avoid the glitz and glamour of the Manhattan art scene, but after a while I realized it was the same type of people, doing the same type of things, more concerned with what others are doing, how people perceived them. And so much gossip." His voice turned bitter.

"Sounds like you've been burned."

"Maybe," he said with a wry smile. He didn't offer more, I didn't pry.

"So, I've been reading your book."

"The Witching Hour?"

"Uh-huh. I'm about three-quarters of the way through."

"You like it?"

"It's interesting," I said, sipping my tea. "The characters are very gritty and I've been at the edge of my seat pretty much the entire story."

"It's okay if you don't like it," he said with a laugh. "It's very mainstream. I wrote it purposefully to appeal to the masses. It's my only number one best seller for a reason."

"I didn't say I didn't like it!"

"No, but I get you, Lawyer-Lady. You deflected – you didn't say you liked it either."

"Oh Snap, he's on to me." I grinned, snapping my fingers. "But really, I do like it, it's just a little fast paced and intense than my usual reads. I keep putting it down to stare out the window to take a mental break. "

"I get that a lot. I'm glad. It's what I was aiming for at the time. A studio is in talks with my publisher to secure the rights for a movie."

"Wow, that's a big deal. Congratulations."

"Nothing's set in stone yet. But if it pans out and the movie goes ahead then there's a good chance I could live off the royalties from it and the extra book sales it'll generate, or least pay off the rest of my mortgage with what they pay me for the rights. Well, that's the dream. The financial security would mean I could write as I please, at my own pace. No more multiple book contracts with pushy publishers who want a say in what I write."

"I can see it being made into a movie. I'd say good luck, but I don't think you need it."

He opened his mouth as if he might say something, but instead smiled broadly, his eyes twinkling. I averted my gaze, it was almost indecent the way he looked at me at times. Although I managed to sneak a quick glance at his perfect ass while we were skiing and I often stare at his muscled forearms when he pushes back his sleeves to help me tidy up.

And did I mention his ass in those jeans?

Watch out now Michonne. You are getting way too close to the fire.


	9. I Didn't See That Coming

This was one of those sleepless nights and I'd been awake for hours after my evening with Rick ended, I was left with the churning of my thoughts and it was doing a number in my head.

I decided to take Noah down to the lake for a walk as soon as dawn arrived. He was so happy keeping pace with me from only a few yards ahead. This was the furthest I'd ventured without having him on his leash. I technically shouldn't have been down this far with him, I was in national park territory, but the sunlit water was too attractive to ignore.

We had made it down to the shore when Noah caught the scent of something interesting, his nose twitching and snuffling in excitement. He began weaving between the trees. I sighed deeply taking in the view as I sat on a sunlit rock. I shifted uncomfortably, an odd feeling washing over me and I twisted in my position to see where Noah had disappeared to. A flash of orange caught my eye from within the tree line and I heard Noah's bark from somewhere over my shoulder.

A red fox darted out onto the trail and stopped in front of me. I wondered if it was the same fox I'd been hearing a scream in the evenings. It tilted its head and took a step forward towards me. I held my breath, my eyes widening. It sure was friendly. Our greeting was disrupted by a sweep of wind as Noah raced past me and the fox took off, Noah hot on its tail.

"Oh hell..." I hopped off the rock and followed their path into the woods. I could hear the crack and snap of branches far ahead but they had disappeared from sight. "Noah! Get your ass back here! Noah, come on boy!" I cupped my hands around my mouth, and my voice echoed back to me from across the lake. I pulled the leash from my pocket, jogging over the trail they left in the snow. I cursed my lax behavior, I should have restrained him as soon as I saw him sniffing around.

The stench of something rotten brought me to a stop. It was a scent I recognized well. One particularly hot summer, Morgan and I discovered a rotting deer carcass in the woods, its head at an unnatural angle, innards splayed across the forest floor, and this smelled exactly the same. It surrounded me and I forced myself to breathe through my mouth. It was odd that something could be decomposing so badly in the middle of a very cold and snowy winter.

I realized I could no longer hear Noah and I began jogging again, calling louder. Five minutes of fruitless searching, I came to a standstill, brought my fingers to my lips and whistled. The sound was ear-splitting and penetrated the forest. It was the Jones family trick. Daddy taught Morgan and me how to finger whistle when we were kids playing in the woods at home in Atlanta. Instead of yelling himself hoarse to get our attention, he would stand on the back porch and whistle so loud it would practically disturb the local wildlife. We'd each whistle back to signal that we'd heard, a sort of call and response, and if he whistled again then it meant it was time to come home. I'd taught Noah to come to my whistle when he was a pup but rarely had to use it.

Noah came bounding up to me a minute later, panting and covered in snow from the chin to ass. "I hope you didn't terrorize that fox," I grumbled, brushing off the thin coating of frost and snow from his ears. I clipped his leash on as we made our way back up the hill, in a hurry to move on away from the stench and get home. I had a phone call I needed to make when I got back, one I'd been putting off all week.

After breakfast and a shower, I phoned the office of Dr. Monroe, the psychologist Shane referred me to. Her receptionist cheerfully informed me there was a cancellation that afternoon and I took the booking. The office was in Roanoke, so I figured I could head in earlier and get some Christmas shopping done first. Christmas was less than a month away and I needed to get a jump start on if I was going to send something to Morgan, Carol, and the kids.

I made it into Roanoke an hour later, parking along the main strip. I grabbed myself a latte from the first mom and pop coffee shop I walked past and slowly wandered the stores along the main street, enjoying the sunshine and surrounds. Like Blue Ridge, townsfolk caught your eyes here and smiled to say good morning as they passed. I loved how inclusive people were here. So different from growing up in Atlanta.

One shop caught my eye, _Horvath Treasures- Antiques and Collectibles._ The store had a charming façade, colonial-style wooden windows with a curved crimson and gold fabric awning. The bell rang as I stepped inside and an older man smiled at me from where he sat behind the glass counter. His spectacles were balanced low near the tip of his nose, a Charlies Dickinson classic in his hand, the book open halfway through.

"Good morning, miss."

"Good morning." I wandered through, the store a lot deeper than I anticipated. Older furniture mostly mahogany and hardwood were out on display. All beautiful but stuff that didn't really suit my cabin. I found a gorgeous antique lap desk inlaid with a delicate gold pattern along the sides. I wondered if Rick would like it, although virtually nobody wrote by hand now, so it was probably useless. It did give me an idea for a similar gift to give him.

I spent time at the jewelry counter where the store owner sat, and we chatted idly about a few pieces that caught my eyes, before I wandered the shelves of books, picking over some of the poetry books. Besides the poetry, I found the occult section. It was surprisingly plentiful. I browsed over a book documenting a series of haunting's, flicking idly through the pages.

"Looking for anything in particular, ma'am?" The shopkeeper was at my elbow, smiling politely.

"Nothing in particular. I…" I trailed off staring at the open book. It was a fairly recent publication for an antique store, from the 70s, the page I had open displayed a picture of a ransacked kitchen. There were drawers pulled out, items and furniture strewn everywhere. 'Evidence of poltergeist activity' the caption read in fine print. "Wow, do you think that's real?" I asked the shopkeeper.

"My wife Ruth is probably the best person to talk about the books from this section. She's the one who sources them. I'll be right back."

I stood awkwardly as he disappeared. I wasn't really after an expert opinion. I wasn't even looking to buy. A few minutes later his wife appeared, she seemed to float as she moved toward me, dressed in a turquoise loose-fitting baby doll shirt with black tapered legged slacks. I could suddenly picture her picking out all the occult books – her style seamed new age hip.

"Hello there, my husband Dale said you had some questions?" She smelled like the warm sandalwood candles that lined the store, her brown eyes were wide and appraising.

"Well, not really." I looked down at the page. "I just asked if he thought this image was real. I hope he didn't interrupt you, it was a silly question really."

"No silly questions, hon." She lifted the golden-framed glasses attached to a matching chain around her neck and moved closer to see the picture. "Well now, I can't vouch for this particular image but this kind of thing certainly happens." She seemed genuinely convinced.

"Really?" I stared at the image, reliving my own experiences, which seemed measly compared to what I was looking at.

"Of course. I've never personally experienced anything this forceful, but I've seen enough in this world to convince me there's something more."

I chewed my lip, feeling more on the fence than ever.

"You having problems, hon?"

"Maybe. I don't think it's ghosts though." I heard Dolores voice in my mind. _'He follows you, you follow him'_. "But there's something there."

She seemed curious but didn't pry. The woman led me back to the counter and asked me to wait while she stepped out to grab something from out back. I took the time to examine the contents of the glass cabinet, Dale perched back on his stool again with his nose buried in his book. I found a delicate pair of pearl drop earrings. It looked like something Daryl's mom, Dana, would like. The woman returned with a package wrapped in brown paper, just as I finished paying for the earrings.

"It's a smudge stick," she explained. "It's a spiritual cleanser and it should chase away whatever is bothering you as well as clear the negative energy from your home. Just light it and walk slowly through each room of your house. If you burn it in each of the cardinal points moving in a clockwise direction it will increase its power. And if that doesn't work then," she paused to reach over the register and grab a business card, "give me a call. There are other things we can try."

"Alright." I smiled. "Thanks."

I stuffed my receipt in the bag and glanced at the business card, **_Horvath's Treasures_** ** _\- Proprietors: Dale & Ruth Ann Horvath._** and then I stuffed the card into the bag too.

I managed to finish up most of my Christmas shopping in Roanoke. I found the Star Wars sword that every boy in America wants for my nephew Duane, and a craft set for niece Sophia, she loves decorating her bedroom. For Morgan and Carol, I picked a large Christmas basket from the local delicatessen, this hamper was loaded with everything, even wine. They only needed something small since I'd already decided to mail them a check covering the costs of flights for them to visit during summer. Money wasn't an issue and wouldn't be for a long time now I'd received the insurance payouts, so I hoped Morgan wouldn't be too proud and would simply accept the gift for what it was. I was excited to keep the Jones summer vacation tradition alive.

My appointment with Dr. Monroe went as well as expected, the majority of the appointment was spent going over my past and explaining the path my life had taken to lead me here. She seemed interested in my need for control, no surprises there, Shane brought it up often, and she encouraged me to make another appointment for the following week which I did. I was hoping next week we could tackle things that I needed to deal with in the here and now… The question of my sanity namely, as well as my fear of future loss.

Instead, after a little googling, I was pleased to discover Paul Rovia also does furniture design workshop in town. I wandered around the corner and spent nearly twenty minutes in his showroom placing a special Christmas order.

A simple lap desk made from a pale solid-oak. Paul created an inventive design on the spot which impressed me to no end. It folded out so he could use it on the couch or in bed, with stylish air vents in the wood ideal for his laptop. It even had a small secret drawer. Paul was confident he could finish it within a week, especially after a negotiation in price. I went a bit over budget for what was considered a gift for a new friend, but to heck with it. I suspected Rick would love it and I loved gift-giving. It was a good distraction from the sadness that seemed to accumulate like a slow fog this time of year.

I went to the instant-print place and bought some picture frames then made some copies of photos I'd brought on a USB. Instead of my wedding portrait, I decided on a picture of Gram, Morgan, Daryl, and I on my birthday about a year after I'd finished law school. It had been a fun night.

I toyed with my phone, debating whether to send Rick a message. I wasn't sure of what to say, I just felt the urge to reach out.

After that, I made my way across to Main Street toward my parking spot, head down and focused on retrieving my car keys from the inner pocket of my handbag when I bumped into someone coming the other way, both of us nearly falling flat on our butts.

"Oh gosh, I'm so sorry." I adjusted myself and we both crouched to pick up my dropped shopping bags.

"Michonne? Michonne Jones? Oh my god, it's been forever since I've seen you!"

I looked up from my bags and placed the woman immediately.

"Jessie. Hey. I guess it has been a long time, nearly 15 years."

"What are you doing in these parts? I thought we'd seen the last of the Jones when your cabin was sold off." Her lips parted as she smiled, revealing two rows of perfectly straight white teeth. She was still as flawlessly coiffed as I remembered her. Sleek red hair, not a stray or gray in sight, her face beautifully made up. It had been so long but part of me still wanted to slap her.

"I repurchased the cabin," I explained. "I'm living there now, at least until the end of summer."

"How exciting!" She clapped her hands together with a little squeal. "That means we're sort of neighbors. I bought the block next to your cabin and built an investment property last year. It's currently being rented by that British hunk. Have you seen him?"

"Yep, I've seen him. I didn't realize it was your place." Of course. Of course, she freaking owned it. Because fate clearly thought my life was a big joke. She linked her arm through mine and walked with me down the sidewalk.

"Yep, it's mine. I own a bunch of properties. Most holiday rentals for the snow season but I've got two places by the lake now. We totally need to catch up. It will be just like old times! Can you believe Glenn and Maggie are still together? What about you? Any man in your life? I don't see a wedding ring." She practically sang the words, bumping her hip against mine.

I wondered how hard I would need to bump her back to send her into traffic. Dear Lord, did thinking that makes me an awful person? I shouldn't be harboring a grudge after nearly a decade.

"How's Gregory?" I asked, coming to a pause outside my car. Better to just cut off her line of questioning than head down that potential nightmare path of a conversation about dead husbands and reclusive lifestyles.

"Grandfather's fine," she shrugged. "He says he wants to retire and get Milton to handle the resort, but he's probably working more now than ever." The Anderson's owned Bridgetown Ski Resort, a luxury resort nestled at the bottom of Blue Ridge Mountain. Gregory had always been kind to me and my family, but his own children Paula, Gareth, Milton, and Jessie, …? Well, that was another story.

"Send your grandfather my regards. It's been great seeing you, Jess."

That was a big fat lie… I unlocked the truck and threw my bags over onto the passenger seat.

"We have to catch up! Give me your number. It will be just like old days, except we can legally drink now. Maybe I can drop by for a catch-up? And I could always use an excuse to see Rick." She pulled her phone from her designer purse and handed it to me so I could enter my number.

"Excuse to see Rick?" I accidentally said out loud. It felt like the blood had left all my extremities and pooled into a swirling pit in my gut. I saved my number in her contacts and handed the phone back.

"Any excuse will do. You've seen him right! OMG!" She squealed like a stuck pig, her voice was like nails on a chalkboard." You can't tell me he isn't completely fuckable. And that I can personally attest to that." A giggle bubbled from her lips. "But you know those artsy types. Quiet and brooding. He gave me the brush off after just one night so he could focus on his writing. He's an author, you know?"

"Yep." I clenched my jaw, willing the conversation to be over.

"And between us girls? His books aren't the only things that are long and hard to put down."

"I have to get going, Jessie."

"Oh, sorry! Here I am chatting away and holding you up. I'll give you a call later in the week. Christmas drinks?" She brushed a kiss against my cheek and squeezed my shoulders in a gentle hug. I smiled big and wide, not trusting myself to speak.

I started the car and angrily jammed the stick into first before pulling away. What was it with that woman and cutting my lunch before I had a chance to? Okay, poor euphemism. It wasn't like I had any kind of claim to Rick or that I was evening planning on anything with him. Plus, he was able to see and do who and what he wanted, but her? Why did it have to be her?

I was mostly calm by the time I arrived home, although I definitely took the corners around Little Blue Road way too fast. I let Noah out of the house to do his business and stood in the yard waiting as he trotted around hunting for the perfect tree or bush to piss on. It had been such a long time since Jessie and I had our issues. I really needed to let bygones be exactly that. Jessie, still as flighty as ever, had seemed genuinely friendly today. My social life wasn't exactly hopping. I decided if she called, then I would accept an invitation to hang out with her. I was here to grow up and move on. Even if there was a distinct chance I might sock her in the mouth if she talked about how great sex with Rick was.

I looked towards Rick 's house where a lone path of smoke was rising above the pines. I had to laugh at her description of Rick as quiet and brooding. He was anything but with me. So at least I had that. And the rest? Well, I'd take it one day at a time.


	10. Embers and Dreams

I could smell it before I even opened my eyes. The air was brittle and clammy around me but the stench was hot and rank inside my nose. Rotting and sickly, like that dead, disemboweled deer Morgan and I found in the peak of summer. I opened my eyes and gasped. I wasn't in bed. I fumbled backward and hit a hard wall. It was dark and damp, I wasn't anywhere near my cabin. A faint drip of water echoed from somewhere further away and the murmur of a breeze called from a different direction, though I couldn't feel it. I twisted around, trying to grasp my bearings while I ran my palms over the rocky surface of the wall behind me, moving down until the tips of my fingers brushed along a hard-rocky floor. A cave? My eyes slowly adjusted. A light source emanated from somewhere far away to my right but it was so distant and filtered I could only make out dark silhouettes against an even blacker background.

"Hello…?" My voice echoed back, loud and unnatural against the saturating silence of my surroundings.

"Hello!" I called again, louder this time, and again, my voice sharply bounced back at me. This feeling… It was familiar. I had experienced it so often at the cabin.

Being watched...

I was being watched. I knew it the way a rabbit felt the presence a fox before seeing or hearing anything. An evolutionary sixth sense telling them potential death was approaching. Gravel crunched from across the cave, jolting me from my thoughts. I held my breath. I couldn't grasp how far away the noise was. I fought the urge to panic and run blindly into the darkness.

"Mmmmmmmm…" A voice hissed from across the cave, gravel crunching as it came closer. A low involuntary moan escaped from me. I curled my knees to my chest.

"Miiiiiiiiiiiiiichoooooonnnn…" Its voice was coarse and thick; the stench too overpowering even at a distance.

I gagged. My hands blindly reached out to the ground around me, searching in vain to find anything to protect myself. Where was my fucking gun when I really needed it?

"Get away from me!" I began crying, hardly recognizing the sound of my own trembling voice.

It moved closer, dragging itself across the gravelly ground, stepping closer to the faint light. I knew distinctively that whatever it was I was seeing was the furthest creature from human I had ever encountered. My eyes struggled to focus and make sense of what that thing was.

And suddenly it launched, landing with force near me. The ground shook and so did my body. Involuntarily my body shook with sobs, my body pleading to flee but I was trapped. There was no fleeing. It hissed again, this time closer to my ear. I couldn't move, I couldn't speak. My chest was so heavy, it felt like I'd been hit in the gut and the wind knocked out of me.

I squeezed my eyes shut. I heard a distant sound, like a lifeline from far away.

A bark.

It came again, this time closer. A wet nose pressed against my palm and I drew in a deep breath, the paralyzed feeling abating. I opened my eyes and blinked as a bright light filled my vision. After a moment, I could move my limbs. I was in bed, in my room and it was morning. I gasped in relief, turning to face Noah who scooted towards me, seeking cuddles. I buried myself in his warm, dry neck, the smell wasn't particularly pleasant, but it was familiar and safe.

I started to cry.

Hands down the worst dream of my life.

After a few moments, I collected myself and got up, pulling the curtains wide open. I needed the daylight to bathe me in reality. I showered until the hot water began to run cold. I dressed for the weather and after breakfast, I took Noah outside. It was snowing steadily but the wind didn't have much force behind it. It was pleasant, all things considered. The dark lake had vanished behind a blanket of white and it felt like all there was to the world was my cabin, Noah and the pines around us.

I threw the ball a little further for Noah, walking around the side of the house. My steps faltered as my foot landed in a deep rut. I looked down, a taciturn feeling creeping inside my chest. It was a large footprint, followed by a drag mark. There were more leading further around the house and all across the yard. The prints were fresh, maybe only an hour or so old. I thought back to my dream, the crunch of gravel and the dragging sound as the creature drew closer to me.

"What!?" I screamed, lifting my arms in frustration. "What do you want? If you want me, just come and get me!" I waited for the creature to leap out at me again.

But not a damn thing happened.

Noah trotted over, head tilted and confused. He dropped his toy and began bouncing on his front paws, waiting for me to pick it up. I sighed, shoulders drooping. I picked up the damn ball and barely threw it. We played for a few more minutes before heading back inside. To say I was skeptical was an understatement but at this point, what was left to lose?

I'm desperate.

I retrieved the smudge stick from the kitchen drawer. I lit the coiled bundle with a utility lighter and blew on the embers till the smoke radiated steadily from the stick. Slowly walking, I moved from room to room waving it around.

I felt stupid.

I couldn't imagine how the herbal smoke could have any effect on… well, anything. Remembering Ruth's suggestions, I stood at each cardinal point and walked clockwise again throughout the cabin. It was creeping closer to 9 am, so I restocked the fireplace with logs and left Noah safely locked up in the cabin to drive into town. I had called Maggie the night before to let her know I'd accept her offer to help consult on her case, but only on a temporary, voluntary basis. I figured it would be nice to have something to do for a few hours a day.

Maggie met me in the waiting room of the station and introduced me to the two deputies on staff that day. Axel Wheeler, a shorter guy who offered me a sweet, crooked smile, and Heath Young, a tall, black man who regarded me with a dubious frown during our introduction to one another. Maggie led me to a small conference room at the end of the building, it featured a glass window looking into the station's main office and was plainly furnished with a dark timber meeting desk, chairs, laptop, printer and a large whiteboard.

"There are office supplies next to the cleaning closet by the kitchenette. If I were you, I'd start by reading over the case files, familiarizing yourself with each one and then go from there."

I sat tentatively when she left me to go deal with a minor car accident involving a handful of vehicles on the outskirts of town. There was always a bunch when winter truly set in, she complained, then left muttering about locals who ought to know better. It reminded me that I needed to get studded snow tires fitted to my truck. The snow was getting deeper by the day. I pulled out my cell and quickly called the garage down the road. The mechanic, a gruff sounding guy named Derrick said if I dropped my truck in at lunch he could have the new tires fitted by the end of the business for me. As I tucked my phone away it struck me that I'd finally begun calling it 'my' truck, not Daryl's. It gave my spirits a needed boost and I got stuck into my work.

Kathi Simpson, aged 17, missing since June of '95, last seen at home by her mom.  
Pamela Watson, aged 16, missing since August '96 after failing to return home from a day on the lake.

Lori Maxwell, aged 16, missing since June '97, last seen at home as parents left for work. Her parents thought she had plans to meet friends in Roanoke that day, no evidence or witnesses to support this.  
Dana Logan, aged 15, missing September '98, last seen riding her bike down one of the main roads in Blue Ridge at dusk.

I read through all of the case notes until my vision began to blur and I leaned back in the office chair, rubbing my eyes. Nothing seemed to stand out from any of the files. I swiveled slowly around in the chair assessing the room and deciding how I was going to organize it. I spotted Heath watching me from his desk and I waved him in with a smile. He didn't seem so keen on me, so I thought it better to work on getting him onboard. With his help, we pinned up large sheets of post-it paper on each of the end walls and we decided to divide the huge whiteboard into two sections with a marker so that way there were four separate dedicated spaces to pin up information for each missing girl. Heath printed off large color photos of the girls and I wrote their names on each of their respective walls. We decided on what pieces of information to include and in the end, I persuaded him that any relevant information should be written on cards and blue-tack to the corresponding area, that way if it became redundant or we needed more space for the new info it could be removed or shuffled around to make it fit. Heath opened up as we worked. he was also a teen through the 90's and was friends with Kathi, not close, but enough to feel and see the effects the missing girl had on the community. Many thought they were runaways, he said, particularly Kathi and Pam but by the third missing girl, the concern in the community was profound. It was nice to get a little insight into how things were then as I was only visiting once a year back then.

I stopped for lunch, not feeling like I'd achieved much but hoping Maggie would appreciate our efforts in setting up the room. It wasn't close to the level of my law school super-study board, but it was a start. I'd ordered pizza and salad for everyone and I ate mine in the conference room. I wondered what they would be doing now if they hadn't been ripped away from their lives while staring at the smiling faces of the girls.

I wondered what I would be doing now if Daryl hadn't died. Probably still working my butt off at the law firm, while the feelings of discontent and resentment deepened in our marriage. I wish I'd known how little time we had together and never taken it for granted. I would have made the most of it, would have jumped headfirst into all the joy that life could give us.

I took a break and dropped my car at the garage and bundled myself up for the long walk back to the station. I sent a text to Rick asking if he wanted me to drop off some dinner for him that evening. After a longer than usual wait, he replied with a; no thank you', telling me he was on a writing roll and didn't want to stop the momentum he had going. I stared at his reply for longer than I would ever feel comfortable admitting.

It was after six when I got home and darker than usual thanks to the thick cloud cover. The cabin had grown cold, so I switched on the heat in the living spaces and the one upstairs in my bedroom. I built the fire backup; there were still a few pitiful embers left from the morning so it didn't take long for it flame up. I stood watching in the living room sliding doors as I let Noah out to do his business.

My phone buzzed in my pocket. I was Rick...Beautiful, _join me in the hot tub tomorrow night?_

I bit my lip, trying to hold back my grin. Noah had disappeared from sight so I finger whistled and he came bounding out from the forest a moment later, I brought him in and locked up the house for the night. If I was planning on being swimsuit ready for tomorrow I needed to bust out the razor and lotion, as well as go through the unpacked boxes of summer clothes to find my bikini. I'd do it all with a spring in my step too.


	11. Thorn In My Side

I was wide awake and I didn't know what woke me - but something had. One sleepless night, a week earlier, out pure of frustration, I'd unplugged my digital clock.

So now I had no clue what the time was. One thing is for sure, it was clearly late. The clouds had moved on and moonlight was casting a dim glow in my room from around the curtains. I lifted my head to check on Noah, he was at his usual spot on the floor. He was not asleep; his head was raised and his ears twitching.

All of the sudden he jumped to his feet and took off down the stairs. He was running so fast, his nails clicked and scraped against the floorboards. I laid back down and listened to him running back and forth along the sliding glass doors downstairs. Something out there was exciting him. It's probably that fox, I reasoned with myself. Still, my heartbeat picked up.

A few minutes later he was back by my side, prancing on his toes. I sat up with a groan, flicking on my reading lamp.

"Need to go pee-pee, boy?"

He yipped and took off back down the stairs. I retrieved my coat from the hook before wadding downstairs in my slippers to meet him. He was waiting impatiently by the sliding door, tail wagging at a million miles an hour.

"Hang on, lil boy." I jogged to the front door and grabbed the leash from its peg. The last thing I needed was to be traipsing the woods in the middle of the night looking for him.

As soon as the door was open Noah was dragging me out onto the snow. When Noah was acting willfully he could be strong as an ox and I just about fell to my knees trying to keep up with him. His nose was down, ears twitching as he rapidly sniffed over the thick blanket of snow that had been deposited on the last day.

"Hurry up, Noah," I hissed trying to walk him over to a bush he particularly favored. Instead, he pulled me along the perimeter of the house and by the deck, his nose buried deep in the scent of something far more interesting than taking a piss on the tree. He stopped suddenly and looked up at the roof. I looked up also, I could see nothing but the thick cover of white that obscured the roofing tiles.

Adrenaline was starting to kick in and flight and fright were desperately shouting at me to get back inside. Noah pulled me again towards the tree line back on the trail of his scent again.

"Noah!" I complained. "Hurry up. It's cold."

And I am this close to pissing myself.

He came to a standstill and stared into the darkness of the woods. He was staring at something out there. My gaze traveled past him. There was something out there.

I couldn't see it.

But I could feel it.

I could feel it staring back.

That was my cue.

"Noah!" I gave a sharp tug and led him back inside. I practically leaped over the threshold before locking the door and running up the stairs, taking them two at a time. I threw off my outdoors layers and climbed back into bed and Noah followed suit, curling up in his bed too. I checked my phone. It was after midnight. I sighed and rolled over, hoping to fall back asleep quickly.

But it wasn't going to happen.

Every familiar settling creak of the cabin set me on edge. Even the whirring sound of the wind and the crackling of the fireplace from downstairs sounded contrary rather than its usual comforting hum. My ears strained to hear anything out of the ordinary.

Get a grip, Michonne.

Take a breath.

Relax...

I forced myself to move my focus to my mindfulness techniques and after many tense minutes, I slowly felt the edges of my adrenaline rush softening.

SNAP...

The loud noise made me jump, my heart started to race out of control, it felt as if it would heart would leap right out of my chest.

Snap… Thud, drag… Thud, drag… Thud, drag…

I sat up and stared up at the ceiling. Noah lifted his head to look up at the same point as me.

Thud, drag… Thud, drag…

It was on the roof. The silhouette of the foul smelling creature from my dream appeared in my mind; its elongated shape, its unnatural gait.

Was that what was up there?

Was it accepting my stupid offer to come and get me from earlier this morning?

Noah jumped to his paws and scurried to the curtain covered glass door that led to the balcony adjacent to my bedroom and began his familiar excited prance, wanting to be let out.

I swallowed, not knowing what to do. Minutes passed, Noah whining impatiently.

This is it, Michonne, I told myself. Was I going to keep living here in fear, trapped inside on the off chance I might get hurt? Or was I going to woman up and face whatever was out there?

I got up and pulled my gun out, loading it with bullets.

Screw this horror movie of a life I'd been living. I was done. Done with being scared and uncertain. Done with questioning my sanity. Done with taking the safe route and letting the world pass me by.

I pulled my coat on and grabbed my cell phone, turning on the flashlight app. I pulled open the curtains and unlocked the door to my bedroom balcony, sliding it open. Noah nosed past me and I followed, my feet crunching over the snow. I shone the light on us and then up over the roof.

Nothing was visible. Hard to tell but I couldn't see any footprints either. Maybe a branch fell on the roof, or some critter decided to use my house as a bridge between trees? Noah was happy to be back in the outdoors, even within the confines of my balcony and finally decided to mark his territory in the far corner.

Nice job Noah.

I pocketed my cell and took a moment to enjoy the beauty of Blue Ridge Lake at night. I had a perfect view from here, the reflections in the water rippled and distorted by the breeze, creating a surreal reflection of the hills and peaks surrounding the lake. My eyes came to rest on the stand of enormous pines that hugged my property. As my vision adjusted I could make out the individual branches and snow-covered limbs. There, between two of the highest branches, I made out the hunched dark silhouette of something. I felt the blood rapidly drain from my face, a panicked dizziness setting in.

Goddamn!

It turned its head and a pair of red illuminated eyes peered at me like lasers. I raised my shotgun, turning off the safety and backed away from the railing.

It remained motionless.

Watching me.

I heard Noah's whining from behind me. My boldness demolished one ragged breath at a time, I slowly stepped backward until I hit the glass of the screen door. I fumbled behind me and wrenched it open. Noah followed me in and I pulled the door closed with a bang, turning the lock into place. I stood still, staring at the figure, its silhouette black as a coal. I considered running downstairs and turning on the floodlights, finally getting a glimpse of what it was but I was frozen in place. Unable to move, unable to break my gaze. Noah whined at my feet again and I gave him a glance, placing a comforting pat on his head.

I looked back up, my eyes scanning until I found the branch again. It was empty. My heart jolted in my chest and I pulled the curtains shut, moving back to sit on the bed.

What should I do?

Call Maggie?

Call Rick?

Sit with my gun aimed at the door all night?

I withdrew my phone from my pocket and slid from the bed to the floor, I shot a quick text to Rick.

 _There's something outside trying to get in_

Noah settled beside me, his hind legs trembling, his tail tucked between his legs. Minutes passed. Half an hour. Rick didn't reply but maybe there was no need? All was quiet now. Was it worth waking him if nothing else happened tonight?

Click, click, click…

I stilled, Noah lifted his head looking to the door straight before us.

Click, click, click…

I tried to stifle my cry, biting hard into my lip until I tasted blood. I cocked the gun, pointing it at the door, the tremor in my hands causing my aim to bounce around more than I'd like.

Click, click, click, click…

The tapping was recognizable. A fingernail against the glass. Tears obscured my vision. The lock began rattling, the sliding door knocking around on its track. With my free hand, I pulled up Rick's contact and dialed.

"What's wrong?" His voice was heavy with sleep but he was alert.

"There's something here," I whispered. "It's here. It's at my balcony door, tapping on the glass, trying the lock."

"Fuck! Hang on."

I let the phone fall to the bed and resumed my aim of the Beretta. My legs felt like coiled springs ready to snap, my palms were sweaty under the cool weight of the weapon. I wanted so desperately to be anywhere but here. To just close my eyes and open them somewhere bright, safe and not this place. But I was here, where fear and panic had replaced the blood in my veins. It was pumping through me, making every nerve twitch and burn like ice on hot skin.

Click, click, click...

I stared at the auburn curtains. They were the thick blackout kind. I had only to crawl forward and snap them to the side and I would face what was taunting me, making my life hell.

 _"Don't do it, Chonne,"_ Strangely I heard Daryl's voice, his voice was so clear, like he was whispering in my ear. " _Just wait...Listen carefully..."_ He said.

And I did just that.

 _He follows you_... I heard Dolores's voice chime in. _"He's always with you, trailing close behind ...Your whole life...its death...You know him, and he knows you. You follow him, he follows you. He wants you to know you've got others. Your enemies, the collector and the prince. They are drawn to your light and have latched on, but they can only watch you...for now...Death is one, but not a singular. There are many, doll, and they all want you..."_

I sobbed, pressing the back of my hand to my mouth. I didn't know if it was him or my subconscious talking but I sure as hell was going to listen. Minutes passed, the rattling lock stopped but the clicking continued, slowly morphing to a shudder-inducing screech as it dragged its nail across the glass.

The sound of an engine rumbling down the drive caused the scrapes to halt. Rick began banging on the door downstairs, calling out to me and I leaped to my feet, Noah at my side.

"Oh thank heavens, Michonne! You're okay," he said when I yanked open the door and I pulled him in. He was barefoot, dressed in black fleece pajama pants and a navy blue long-sleeve thermal. I gave him a trembling smile and locked the door shut behind him, turning the deadbolt.

"Are the police on their way?" He asked.

"What? No!" I took to the stairs again, climbing them silently, gun aimed.

"What do you—?"

"Shhh..." I took the final step up to the second floor and waited for Rick to move by my side.

"I'm calling the police," he hissed. "You're being stalked!"

"Put your phone away," I hissed back at him. "You can't call them. What could they do? Whatever's out there isn't human."

I crept closer to the door, turning my head to search for Noah; he had settled back into his bed, his snout resting on his paws. I stood in front of the doors, debating whether or not to pull the curtain back. Rick took the lead and pulled them back for me. The balcony was empty. The only evidence of any activity being the snow, scuffed and kicked around by me, Noah and… it.

I pressed the safety on and lowered the gun.

"What do you mean, it's not human?" he asked. "Not human as in an animal..?"

"I think–" I cleared my throat as my voice broke. "No..." I flicked off the lamp, the room falling dark, and I moved to the sliding door, scanning the trees. My vision didn't take as long to adjust this time. The trees were empty. It was gone. Or so I hoped.

I started at the beginning, telling Rick about my strange dream the night before, the footprints around the house I'd discovered upon waking, using the smudge stick to cleanse the cabin, before finally recounting all that had happened over the last hour. He stared at me intently as I spoke, one-half of his face in shadow the other half pale and ghostly in the moonlight.

"Its shape is not human. Like its form was too stretched and bulky."

"So what are you thinking? Bigfoot?"

"What...? No!" The thought never crossed my mind. "A Sasquatch doesn't explain what happened when I fell outside, or how the door unlocked and opened on its own." I switched the lamp back on and sunk into the bed. Rick pulled the curtains closed again and sat beside me.

"I thought you only believed in what you could see in the here and now," he said quietly. He took the gun from my hands and laid it on the bed, barrel pointed away from us. I didn't meet his eyes at first, picking at a stray thread on the quilt.

"I do," I whispered. "But I also don't really think I'm crazy… Do you?"

"No." His voice was firm, gaze unwavering.

"If I'm not crazy and whatever is happening is beyond normal explanation then…"

"Then it's something abnormal. Extra-ordinary."

I nodded. He placed his warm hand on top of mine, stilling my nervous thread pulling.

"C'mon. Let's go downstairs. You're shaking like a leaf." He pulled Gram's old afghan from the bottom of the bed and wrapped it around my shoulders. "I'll make you some tea and I'll call my new friend, he lives close by and I think he can help."

Still wrapped in the frayed blanket, I burrowed myself into the armchair beside the fire, nursing the mug of chamomile tea Rick handed me. I could hear him softly speaking on the phone in the kitchen.

"He'll be here soon," he said, settling himself onto the couch a few minutes later. "I didn't tell him much, but I must warn you, he already has it in his head its Bigfoot since I showed him those pics of the tracks."

"So that's where that suggestion came from," I took a sip of my tea, trying to lose myself in the taste and aroma.

"Yeah. It wouldn't be my first guess either." He stretched his legs out on the couch, resting his feet on the arm at the other end, ankles crossed.

"I wonder why it didn't unlock the balcony door when it... or something seemed to unlock the front door just fine last week." He paused for a moment. "Maybe that smudge stick actually did something? Protected your home somehow?"

"Maybe. I need to go back to the antique store tomorrow and see Ruth again."

"I think we should pay a visit to Dolores too."

I smiled gratefully at him, so thankful that he was including himself in my dramas. Independence came naturally to me, I was so used to doing everything on my own, but hearing him say 'we' made my heart full of emotion.

As we waited for the ranger, Rick dragged the coffee table away from the window back to the couch and we sat, knees touching, working together on the old jigsaw puzzle.

"This was clearly made for masochists," he grumbled after trying and failing to place the fifth piece he'd picked up.

"There's nothing masochistic about liking a challenge," I said pressing the piece I was holding into place. What a satisfying feeling. I felt his eyes on me and I looked at him curiously.

"Well, that I can agree with," he smirked, brow raised and expression playful. I laughed softly. He was so damned good-looking, I could hardly think straight when I was around him. He was tall and strong in a way so very different to Daryl; Rick's form slender and muscular, like a swimmer.

And he liked me.

I leaned against him, pressing my lips against his. He jerked slightly in surprise and I rested my hand against his stubbly cheek to keep him in place. His lips, firm and smooth, moved immediately in response to mine. I brushed my tongue against his lower lip and he brought his arm around my waist, settling me closer to him. Our kiss deepened and I slung my other arm behind his neck, moaning as his fingertips traced a tingling path along my spine under my flannel pajama shirt.  
He pulled away, cupping my hand against his cheek then placing a kiss on my wrist.

"I've wanted this since the second I met you," he whispered. He brushed his lips against mine gently. His mouth moved along my jawline and he kissed down the path of my neck, sending a wave of pleasure all the way to my toes. I linked both of my arms behind his neck, giving myself over to the moment.

"And here I was thinking I'd moved next to some maniac who had it out for my trees," I said breathlessly. He laughed into my neck, his breath hot and face pleasantly rough.

"Well, if that means we get to do this, then I'll be investing in a damn chainsaw." He pulled away, an impish grin lighting up his face. We heard the rumble of a truck and moments later headlights shone through the curtains on the windows by the front entry.

"That's him," he said and the reality of the night came rushing back to me. With Rick, I'd almost managed to forget the horror of the night in the span of the last few minutes. Rick helped me to my feet before pulling me into a tight embrace. I leaned against him, grateful for him.

"It's going to be fine," he said, resting his cheek against the top of my head. I got the impression he didn't say it to comfort me, but rather to reassure himself.


	12. The Paradox

When Rick opened the front door, Aaron and I gawped at each other in surprise before we both began speaking at once.

"Of course, you're the park ranger!"

"Michonne! You're back at your old place!"

We both laughed and I led him into the living area, Rick trailing behind. Aaron let out a low whistle as he looked around, poking his head around the corner into the kitchen.

"You've done some good work here, Chonne."

"Thanks," I beamed. "And you! Look at you. Finally got a job in the parks service after all those years talking about it." He'd changed some, more wrinkles where there'd only been smile lines, gray hair mixed liberally with the golden brown. It all suited him, especially his park ranger uniform, which he must have changed into after receiving Rick's call.

I turned to Rick, who was standing between us and looking a little thrown.

"Aaron was my old boss back in the day," I explained. "I worked a few summers on the lake as a part-time lifeguard. Aaron was one of the supervisors there for almost as long as I'd known him. Thanks for coming out so late," I said, directing my attention back to Aaron. He had crouched down giving Noah, who was by the fire a good scratch behind the ears. "I know Rick said you didn't mind…"

He shook his head in protest, standing up. "Nope. Think nothing of it. I'm dying to see these tracks. The pictures Rick sent the other day peaked my interest."

Rick flopped down onto the couch. "I think your exact words were: 'Holy shit if you anymore I need to see them I R L'."

Aaron chuckled, taking a seat on the edge of the armchair. "Yeah, that'd be closer to the truth. Now, Michonne," he said turning to me, his cheer fading. "Want to explain what happened here tonight?"

I shared a look with Rick as I seated myself on the opposite end of the couch from him. Rick's face was one of understanding and I caught the unsaid meaning. He would support me with however much I wanted to share. I wanted to scoot closer to him and take his hand but thought better of it. Whatever we were was too new, and ultimately this whole situation was my problem to face.

I would be no damn damsel.

I lifted my chin, steeling myself and told Aaron about the multiple incidences of tracks I'd found around my property and the encounter from earlier that evening. Aaron nodded throughout, although his eye took on an unusual gleam. I made sure to steer my explanation away from anything...paranormal...supernatural.

"Have you heard of anything like this?" I asked. I didn't want to tell him about the other occurrences just yet. I thought it best to scope out his opinion first.

"Now, now. I don't wanna jump to conclusions. Let's go look at the tracks first and we'll go from there."

I threw on my coat, boots and grabbed my pistol. When Rick moved to follow us out the front door I stopped him with a raised palm.

"What do you think you're doing?"

"Coming out to have a look. Clearly." He crossed his arms, his chin jutted out like a stubborn toddler.

"You are barefoot and have no coat. You can turn on the floodlights for us if you like, the switch is beside the sliding door, but you are staying inside."

"But–"

"Nope. No argument. I have my gun and Aaron with me." I pulled the door shut behind me on the unamused and unimpressed British hunk I couldn't believe I'd actually kissed only a few minutes earlier. The floodlights flicked on as we walked around to the lakefront side of the cabin.

There were prints everywhere. The thing's prints mostly - not just mine and Noah's. I stood by holding the torch as directed by Aaron while he measured a print and took photos. My eyes darted cautiously between what Aaron was doing and the tree line the whole time.

"You know there's a collection of documented Sasquatch prints from various locations around the country?" Aaron said, measuring the depth of the print and writing it into a tiny spiral notepad that he'd pulled from his coat pocket. I didn't respond, from his enthusiasm I could tell he was dying to share. "A professor of anthropology and anatomy has cataloged a set of prints from an unknown species up in the Pacific Northwest. The footprints had a distinct and hard to fake crippled foot. He was skeptical of Bigfoot until he saw them. Those prints were enough to convince him of their existence."

"Is this what you think it is?" Because I knew it wasn't. It was something far more sinister.

"Hmm. They are some kind of creature, alright. These prints are too short to be Bigfoot, typically their foot span is in the range of 15-18 inches. "

"You've seen Bigfoot prints before?" I asked in surprise, I never really put any stock in the myth of Bigfoot.

"Oh no. He chuckled, "Not even so much as a rumor of a sighting in the area. Although I have to say, I get the odd feeling when I'm out in the forest. That sense of something being out there. Like something's watching, you know?" He looked up at me and I felt a chill run down my spine.

"Yeah, I know." That feeling was the one thing I could consistently count on during my walks since I arrived at Blue Ridge Lake.

"I'm not saying I believe in Bigfoot, but the idea of an uncatalogued species that are descended from some kind of hominid is pretty exciting. As for these prints… Well, I don't know. They're closer to human size and while it's clearly walking around on two legs it's certainly not human. This drag here obscures the shape of one foot. And here," he pointed to the next print, "You can see there are two toes, maybe a third here at the back... it could be a hoof or heel. My guess is that it's been injured or maybe its other foot, or paw - whatever it is - is deformed. An injured bear perhaps, drawn out of hibernation after an attack."

Aaron spent much too long for my comfort examining each print and taking photos with his camera. My feet teetered on the spot, nervous energy returning. I was eager to return to the safety of indoors.

When we finally got back in, we discovered Rick had fallen asleep on the couch with a movie going. His arm was curled under his head like a makeshift pillow. Noah was asleep on the floor beside him, no doubt seeking affection while they waited for our return. I turned the TV down and walked Aaron out to his car.

"Thank you, Aaron," I said, hugging my arms to my chest, trying to keep the cold at bay. "I really appreciate you comin' all the way out here."

"Think nothing of it, Chonnie," he said, calling me by his old pet name. "Great to see you again, blast from the past."

"Tell me about it. Glad to see you doing so well for yourself. Do you still see the old crew?"

"We've all moved on from our lifeguard days, but some of us stuck around."

"Lifers," we said in unison and laughed. That was the way of small-town folk. And I suppose me too. From growing up in Atlanta to settling back in Blue Ridge many years later.

"Just let me know if you need anything. Work gets quiet through winter so I have time to help now. In fact, you should come down to the ranger station for a visit one day. My colleague is working on a project documenting and recording the oral history from people in the area. I'm sure he'd love to hear some of your tales from growing up here. He might've heard something from locals about your animal, too."

I locked up the house after Aaron left and draped the quilt from my bed over Rick. The idea of waking him made me anxious, I didn't want him to go home until morning. He shifted a little, letting out a soft snore. It was any wonder I managed to wake him with my call earlier that night. He apparently slept like the dead.

I filled the fireplace with the last of the logs in the wood basket and curled back into plush armchair I'd sat in before. I pulled Gram's old afghan tight around me. The huge dose of adrenaline had left me hollow, rattled and exhausted in every which way. Mentally, physically, emotionally. I put on a Chevy Chase comedy and passed out halfway through the opening credits.

I smelled the coffee before my eyes even opened. Unsure of what time it was, I smiled and hummed appreciatively. It reminded me of mornings with Daryl, his ritual of waking me with a steaming cup after getting back from his morning run with Noah. I loved our mornings together. How we moved seamlessly around each other getting ready for work. It was a kind of choreography we had down to a fine art. Sharing the bathroom and easily scooting around each other in the kitchen. Him plating my breakfast while I fixed our lunches. The goodbye kiss and wave as we drove off in opposite directions. I had fixated on that last goodbye kiss for a long time after the accident.

I forced my eyes open and stretched my legs out. They were cramped and tingly.

"She wakes." Rick placed a coffee cup down on a corner of the coffee table closest to me and sat down on the couch. "I've had to check you were even alive. You are the quietest sleeper. You barely move or stir."

"I think it was more falling unconscious, rather than sleeping. Last night took it out of me." I yawned and brought the coffee cup to my face, breathing in what was possibly the best scent in the whole world. "This is perfect, thanks. What time is it?"

"Almost seven-thirty. That morning sun is blinding in here. Couldn't sleep any longer."

We fell into silence, turning over the previous evening's events.

"What did Aaron say?" he asked after we'd both taken a sip.

"Not a whole lot. It's not human, not a Sasquatch, not anything he's seen. His guess was an injured bear. He invited me to go down and speak with one of the other rangers at the park. He might know something."

"How much did you tell him?"

"Just the basics. The explainable stuff, I guess. I wasn't comfortable elaborating any further about the strange happenings."

Rick nodded in understanding, stretching out into a more relaxed position on the couch. I tried not to stare.

"So, do you still want to head into Roanoke today?" he asked.

"Yes," I confirmed, nodding. "I can't spend another night here without trying something more. Or at least investigating it further."

"About that…" Rick set his cup down, his face turning serious as he raked his hand through his hair. "Maybe you should come stay with me for a few nights? I have a spare room. Just until we know what's happening here."

"No, don't be ridiculous." I waved my hand dismissively. "Whatever it is can't get in otherwise it would have succeeded last night. I'll be fine." Looking around the cabin in the bright light of morning confirmed that. It felt cozy and safe.

"Hardly ridiculous," he said, his forehead drawing into a deep frown. "You have no idea what it is. You seem convinced that it's something not of this world. Fuck, Michonne – you have me convinced too. Why risk something happening? You shouldn't be alone."

"Newsflash, Rick. I am alone. I've managed the first thirty years of my life unscathed, I can handle this too."

"If you were fine alone you wouldn't have phoned me last night." His annoyed expression was quickly giving way to anger. I bit my tongue, holding back a sarcastic retort and took a deep breath.

"This is my home," I said finally. "I won't be chased away. I'll shoot that thing dead between the eyes before I leave my home out of fear."

"Are you even listening to yourself? You were a quivering wreck when I got here last night! It's okay to need help – to ask for help."

I gritted my teeth. He was right, I was all bluff -big talk, no action. In the face of that awful thing, I couldn't even bear to part the curtain to look at it, let alone shoot it. I wasn't sure it could be shot.

"Who exactly does it help if I leave? What if it just stays here waiting, or follows me? Leaving solves nothing."

"And what if it gets in? Then you die alone up here," he said gesturing around the cabin. "All because you were too foolish and stubborn to accept your limitations."

"My limitations?" I scoffed, hardly believing his words. "Can you even hear yourself right now? So, what's your great alternative here? You swoop in like some knight and whisk me away to safety? You have some gall asking me to listen to myself! How are you better equipped to do anything about this thing than I am? You live a hop, skip and jump from me. It could just follow me to your place."

"So what's your grand plan for solving this?" he shot back angrily. "Burning another smudge stick and hoping for the best? Or cowering in your bedroom with your dog and pistol?"

I gasped in indignation. "Are you always such an asshole?"

"Are you always so willfully stubborn? I'm trying to help you out here, but you seem intent to ignore reason and do the exact opposite!"

"Look, I appreciate your help...and you are welcome to stay in one of my spare rooms but I'm sure as hell not going anywhere. This is my home. And I am not leaving. And I'm not going to be forced out. You can't convince me otherwise." I stood up, slamming my coffee on the table, liquid slopping everywhere over the edges. I growled at my foolishness and stormed to the kitchen grabbing a cloth to wipe the mess down.

"Michonne… I'm not trying to force you out."

"Just don't even talk to me right now," I snapped at him. I wiped the spill up and rushed back into the kitchen to rinse the cloth under hot water, hanging it to dry on the dish rack. I grabbed the edge of the basin trying to collect myself. I was not going to leave. This house was like my baby. It was the only thing that kept me going the last few months. The only bright spot I'd had in my life to look forward to. I poured my heart and soul into remodeling the place. Making it a new home for myself. He didn't understand. I couldn't adequately describe what leaving this place meant. It was like admitting defeat. Like giving up on myself and my grief.

I marched past Rick and began stomping up the stairs.

"Where are you going?" he yelled at me.

"I'm going to take a shower if that's alright with you. Or do I need your permission to complete basic tasks around the house too? I suggest you go home and get dressed. I'll be leaving here in a half hour whether you're back or not."

Forty minutes later I sat in the driveway, truck idling when Rick emerged from the woods, jogging up to the passenger door.

"I didn't think you'd leave without me." He smirked, zipping his coat and buckling himself into the passenger seat.

He had showered and dressed in black fitted jeans, boots, knit-sweater and his brown coat. His hair was still damp, dark tendrils falling across his forehead. I didn't reply, opting to roll my eyes and maneuver the truck up the driveway towards the road. If he hadn't looked so goddamn hot I might have been able to come up with a sassy ass response.


	13. The Unfortunate Ones

The car trip was silent until I stopped at Sasha's to grab us some breakfast. Rick followed me into the cafe while I ordered some coffees, scones and breakfast sandwiches. He was smart enough to let me pay, although I saw his hand twitch when the order was rung up.

I sat down at a small table by the cottage style window looking out onto Main Street and he sat across from me, a quirk of amusement playing at his lips.

"The cranberry orange scones are the best," I said, in what I hoped was a peacemaking tone. I placed the moist scones beside the bacon and egg croissant and push the plate to him. "I know I'm stubborn, Rick. It's one of my many flaws. Probably the biggest. I do appreciate all the help you're willing to give."

I sighed, toying with the sugar packet I'd emptied into my coffee. I wasn't sure what I was trying to say. I just wanted him to understand I wasn't the person I wanted to be. He took my hand in his, turning it over and curling his fingers through mine.

"It's fine. You're a spitfire. I like it. Your accent gets really southern when you sass me. It's sexy as hell. I bet you're an even bigger minx in the bedroom." He raised his brows and gave me a look that made me want too... Well, never-mind... I shushed him, kicking him gently in the shin under the table. An older couple at the next table shot us a disapproving look. I felt my cheeks burn and I was sure I'd melt right through my seat and into a puddle of embarrassment onto the floor. "I'm stubborn too, Michonne. I'm not used to not getting my way. I think we're alike in many ways."

"I don't know about that," I said, taking a bite of my scone. "You're pretty darn skilled at pissing me off, and I'm beginning to suspect rather than getting pissed off when we fight, you just get a perverted kick out of it."

Rick laughed loudly, subjecting us to another glare from the couple, but I just smiled back at him, warmed. The tension was gone. It felt good.

After breakfast, we walked slowly back to my truck, our sleeves brushing close to each other. We stopped beside the truck as I fished the keys from my purse.

"We need to call a suspension on the fighting until we get through what's happening at your place," he said.

"I won't make any promises, but I can aim to be better."

"Ah, spoken like a true lawyer."

Our first stop was Sunny View retirement home. The nurse at reception directed me and Rick to the visitor register and told us Dolores's room number in case she wasn't relaxing in the day room. She was in the day room though.

She was seated at the card table in the corner. I wondered if it was set up specifically for her. She was playing a different variation of her solitaire game, I wasn't sure if it was a legitimate game or one of her own imaginings. Either way, she was absorbed and didn't notice our presence until I moved the chair back to sit opposite her.

She smiled broadly at me.

"Michonne with her light, still in this world for one more night! So good to see you again. Sit on down. I'm playing a good hand right now." Her thin fingers made busy work across the cards; she flipped and reordered them, their sequence made no sense.

"Hi, Dolores, nice to see you again. This is my friend, Rick. We were hoping you wouldn't mind having a chat with us today."

Dolores responded with a distracted nod still looking at her game and Rick pulled another chair over to our table.

"Is that spider solitaire?" he asked, his face friendly and inquisitive.

"Why, yes!" Dolores exclaimed and clapped her hands together once. She looked up with triumph at Rick. "It's a good, this game." We watched on for a quiet minute as she played.

"Dolores, do you remember the things you were saying to me last week?"

"Sure thing, doll. That Prince of yours giving you a hard time, isn't he?" She scooped up the cards and began shuffling them. Cards slipped out from the thick stack falling onto the table but without a word, Rick took the deck gently from her hands, picked up the strays and began shuffling them smoothly. Dolores leaned back in her seat, a pleased grin spreading wide across her cheeks.

"Well, I had a few questions," I said. "Like who he is and what he wants. Am I hoping you can help me? You said he wants to use me."

"Is this your sweetie?" she asked, nodding her head towards Rick.

"Huh," I felt a red flush prickle upwards from the collar of my blouse. "Um, I-"

"Yes," Rick declared, pulling my hand across to his lap and squeezing it in his before getting back to shuffling. I left my hand resting on his thigh. She nodded slowly appraising us, the creases in her forehead deepening.

"Well, you two won't work as long as the dark ones are around. Too much-unfinished business."

"What do you mean? Who?" I asked, feeling my patience thin. I wasn't inclined to snapping at an elder in full view of others but I was getting close. Rick gave my hand another quick squeeze of support. Or warning. I wasn't sure.

"He's the opposite, they are the void, thus your enemy," she said finally. As for your other questions, I can't say I'm really in the know with the death dealers, I only hear what I hear." She held her hands out impatiently for the cards and Rick passed them over.

"My enemy?" It wasn't the first time she'd call him that. I could hardly deny it, though.

"No," she reprimanded like I was a child who misunderstood a simple request. "Your enemy."

Rick and I shared a look and I left out a puff of frustration. She slapped the cards down onto the plastic surface of the white table, dealing out another round.

"Your enemy will use you, whether you want it or not. No use fighting it. It's destiny. He's latched onto your spirit and won't let go until you've done his deeds, the ones he can't complete."

I felt a shiver pass through me. What kind of awful deeds did it want me to do?

"Did you know the local children visit at Christmas and perform carols?" Her tone was upbeat and she grinned suddenly when she drew a queen and king of spades consecutively. "They'll be here next week, just awful on the piano, but the staff serves eggnog and sugar cookies!" She was positively gleeful.

Rick prodded her a little more but she responded vaguely and we ended up chatting politely with her about Christmas at the home with her family for a few minutes before we bid her goodbye.

We walked down the hall a short way and stood beside a large window that looked into a tiny internal courtyard. It was a greenhouse of sorts, hosting a variety of small plants and interesting shrubbery. A kind of zoo for flora, breaking up the drabness of the linoleum floors and tired landscape prints that adorned the cream walls. I rested against the wooden handrail that ran the length of the corridor, facing the courtyard.

"That's what she called you last time, right? Michonne with the light?"

I nodded, turning my head to look at him. He waited until an attendant walked past us, I chewed on that piece of information for a second.

"How reliable do you think her testimony is on a scale of one to ten?" I asked.

"Well, I'm inclined to think she's bat-shit crazy regardless of the score, but I'd say somewhere around five."

I dropped my head back against the wall and took a moment to close my eyes. Rick let me have my moment uninterrupted and over the sounds of everyday life at the retirement home. If she was spouting off bullshit to us, she sure seemed to know what to say to play into my fears. I felt a mix of fear and foreboding, but at the core of it all was the disappointment. I was still no closer to understanding what the heck was happening. Dolores was a possible red herring, a random distraction pointing my nose in the wrong direction.

"Will you warm up the truck. It's your turn to drive." I retrieved my keys from my purse and handed them to Rick as we made our way to the truck.

"Was this your husband's?" Rick asked as he jangled the keys from their position in the ignition.

"Uh, yeah. It's mine now." I switched off the phone screen to stare across at him. His expression was unreadable. A little conflicted or uncomfortable, maybe.

"Oh." He'd seen the gold wedding bands I'd looped onto the carabiner key chain. I kept my engagement ring in my jewelry box at the cabin with my other valuable jewelry, but I'd put our wedding rings on the key-ring once I was ready to stop wearing mine. That way it would be with me, but not. Made sense since it was his car and all. I considered it an emotional step up from wearing them on a chain around my neck.

"Were you happy to be married?" he asked, his eyes searching mine.

I considered my response, how best to word it, before nodding, "Very much," I said, "It wasn't always easy, and I regret I didn't work harder at it, but I would do it all again, even if the result was the same."

Rick nodded slowly, seeming lost in thought as his fingers absently rattled the keys.

"Did you want me to drive?" I asked, feeling a sweep of shame as I considered things from his perspective. Driving the widow, he'd kissed in the car once owned by her dead husband. All after being told we wouldn't work because I was being stalked, haunted, followed – take your pick – by something otherworldly.

"No, it's okay." He moved the stick into reverse and backed out of the space while I began directing him back to the main strip where Horvath's Shop was located.

"I understand if this is too weird for you. I hadn't really thought about it from your perspective… I mean this whole situation is weird and add my past and you, with your work here. I mean, you could be at home right now working on your novel and I'm dragging you away. You really don't have to drive the truck. I just didn't think."

"Michonne." He cut off my ramblings with an exasperated laugh. "It's fine, really. I wouldn't be here unless I wanted to be."

I folded my hands in my lap, bothered. It was all unexplored territory for me. I hardly knew how to be around myself, let alone around a… Well, what is he? A prospective boyfriend? My sweetie?

"You have the past. I have the past. At our age, it would be strange if we didn't," he said. "Meeting you here; both of us are away from our regular lives. It shouldn't, but it feels unexpected to be confronted with the reality of it. Like we're in a parallel universe here at the lake, and the real world exists out there while we do our own thing here unaffected."

"I get that, although I can't say it feels the same for me," I said, turning in the seat to face him better. "That's the reason why I'm here, after all. To detach from my life out there and give myself a chance to deal with things properly. Find me again."

"I don't want to get in the way of your purpose for coming here." He chanced a quick glance at me before looking back to the road. Not a shred of the cocky, self-assured Rick was currently present. It was unnerving.

"You're not. I moved to get into a better head-space, start living properly again. Meeting you has helped with that. Not so much the… other stuff that's been happening."

Our conversation fell silent and I took the chance to enjoy viewing him in profile. The bridge of his nose rose and dipped slightly in a pleasing and deliberate way, sort of like a Greek sculpture. I resisted the urge to pull him in for a kiss. Not safe, Michonne. He's driving. Eventually, I pulled my gaze away, I needed to think about my current situation, as unfortunate as that was.


	14. The Death Dealers

The brass bell rang as we walked into _**Horvath Treasures- Antiques and Collectibles**_ , though the counter was empty; Rick was momentarily fixated by the enormous oak shelves all stuffed with books.

I tugged on his arm gently, telling him we had time to browse once we talked to Ruth. We found Dale busily shifting furniture out the back when I lead Rick through the store.

"Hello again," he smiled straightening at his feet. "Are you after Ruth?"

"Yes, Sir is she here..." I asked and Ruth emerged as if summoned and greeted me with a broad smile. Her bohemian clothes matched the bright orange beaded necklace around her neck. She embraced me, smelling warm and earthy like the last time.

"Why, hello again. I'd say I'm happy to see you but given how soon it is, I'm not sure if that's the right response."

Ruth led us through a side door near the book section and up a narrow set of stairs. It was a small loft style apartment, although it didn't look like they lived in it. The area, chock full of furniture and antique pieces and dozens upon dozens of boxes and other items.

"Dale and I have a bit of a shopping addiction," she explained. "We cruise the estate sales and garage sales across the state every weekend." We sat around a small vintage chrome and ivory dinette in the kitchen. "Luckily we can fill this place up, our actual home is on the other side of town."

While she made a large pot of tea for us to share, I formally introduced myself, Rick, and thanked her for the smudge stick. Without much prompting I found myself telling her of all the occurrences I'd had since arriving at my Blue Ridge cabin while she listened quietly. She took my hands between hers part way through the tale, and while odd, it was comforting. She seemed to radiate warmth and goodness.

"Do you think the old woman, Dolores, is actually speaking the truth?" I asked Ruth.

"It's probably the dementia talking," Rick piped up, speaking for the first time. I frowned at him, he had been less skeptical half an hour ago. Judging by his expression now, he didn't seem to put much credence towards whatever Ruth had going on. Her whole spiritual vibe put him off.

"I think it's hard to discount what she's been saying, wouldn't you agree?" Her gaze traveled from Rick across to me. "Perhaps the shroud has lifted for her now her mind has been affected in old age." She asked to see Rick's notes, which he produced from inside his jacket pocket. She spent a few minutes carefully reading through them. It looked like they had been added to since he'd first written them; there were multiple pages now.

"Now, Michonne, I want you to focus on how you feel when the presence...the entity is near."

"Okay…" I said, although I agreed, I didn't believe my feelings towards the situation would provide me answers or a solution.

"Go on," she encouraged. "This will help, lean back in your seat and close your eyes. Tell me how you felt last night when you knew it was watching you from the trees."

I did as she suggested and sighed, thinking back to the previous night. I spent a moment sorting through my emotions, cataloging and compartmentalizing them. I was a habit of mine, although I generally stuffed them away rather than talked about them.

"Scared. Terrified. Confused. And this sense of … inevitability. That's more difficult to describe. It's like something is tugging within me."

"Physically or emotionally?"

"Well... Not physically…emotionally…"

"Anything else?"

"Curiosity. A morbid curiosity, though, not the innocent kind. Voyeuristic, I guess you could call it." A shudder of disgust moved through me and Ruth patted my hand reassuringly.

"What else, hon?

"Um…I also feel fear. A lot of it. It's paralyzing. It prevents me from doing what I want to."

"What do you want to do?"

I thought back to the shotgun at the sliding door to my balcony, waiting to shoot. That wasn't quite the answer though. I opened my eyes and was caught in her stare, her hazel eyes were focused and searching.

"I want to see it," I said quietly. "I want to see it in the light. Find out what it wants from me." I didn't know it until I said it, but I was sure now. She nodded, smiling in a satisfied way. She drank the last mouthful from her cup and stood, smoothing her chiffon skirt downwards.

"Follow me."

Rick and I trailed after her down a narrow hallway towards the back of the loft.

"That was heavy," Rick whispered, his breath tickling my ear. I hugged my arms to my body, no response seems adequate. I was still lost in the tunnel of revelation.

Ruth opened the door to the room at the end of the hall and stood to the side allowing us entry. The room was clearly intended to be the master bedroom, it was light and bright with a large bay window at the end that looked out onto a garden plot at the back of the store. Instead of bedroom furniture, the room was lined with large shelves filled with old books, crystals, candles, bundles of dried herbs and jars filled with all sorts of items; hairs, pebbles, small animal bones, and leaves. A large altar was set up at the end.

"Are you a witch?" Rick asked flatly and unabashed.

"Rick," I hissed. It seemed the height of rudeness. Like asking a stranger how old they are or much money they earned.

"Wiccan," she chuckled low and throatily... "It's an earth-based religion. Although I have a sensitivity to the spiritual world outside of that also." She gestured around her room. "This place is the equivalent of a temple or church for me. I pray, study, and practice my religion here."

Rick moved to the shelves to examine the books while I stepped closer to the altar. The small pulpit was covered in a crimson cloth with a large brass bowl and ornate blade sitting atop it. A variety of semi-precious gems were scattered around.

"If you want to handle the books, there are some cotton gloves on the far shelf for you to wear. These books are very old and single prints or first editions," Ruth said firmly to Rick, who was perusing the titles with the tip of his finger. He moved his raised hand away from the shelf. Ruth pulled on some gloves of her own and climbed a step stool to withdraw a large book from a high shelf. She placed it on the pedestal and opened it carefully, turning each page across gingerly.

"Your enemy, your enemy…" she muttered.

"That phrase has significance?" Rick asked.

"I wonder…" she muttered to herself.

"What if she wasn't saying 'your enemy'? But if she was saying its name. Eurinome is an ancient deity," she said, not lifting her gaze from the book. "But if I recall correctly, the name is attributed to others… The Death Dealers…The Maenads..."

She trailed off and kept turning pages. I stood next her looking at the book. It appeared very old, written in the distinct scratchy writing of a tip-point ink. I could barely make out the words, they were written in old English and cursive. She turned the page, her index finger hovering as she continued down.

"What book is this?" I asked from over her shoulder.

"A grimoire. This one is a compendium of invocations, it also has some instructions. I own many grimoires and occult books, but this one has a focus on ancient deities." She said it so casually like it could be found in any old library. It was a few more pages before she found what she was looking for.

"Eurinome. Here we go," she said. "The Maenads," she began. "Let me paraphrase here, the language isn't very clear. Eurinome, the daughter of Thálametē, the god of anarchy. She resides in the water, is known as the keeper of the innocent, belonging to the high order of The Paragathus and the prince of death..."

I blinked, trying to grasp the meaning of it all.

"...If this bunch have their eyes on you…" Her eyes held a little twinkle of excitement, which pissed me off. She was excited to flex her Wiccan wings while I was now terrified of being a part of some death deal. I couldn't confidently trust her judgment, but still… I had to admit that she was sincere in her offers to help. I got the sense she meant well and wanted to do well. That, I hoped, was the important thing.

"So what can I do about this?" I asked. "Is there no kind of exorcism or ritual to get it...them to go back to where they came from?"

"If it's Maenad, then it will be difficult to magic anything that will be truly effective. Banishment rituals are fine against spirits from lesser orders, but again, even that's tricky if it isn't within your home. I've got a few things I can give you for now…I'll have to do some online research and contact a few of my resources to see if there's anything else I can do to 'ward' the property."

"Excuse me," I said, not waiting for a reply. I rushed out of the room as fast as I could. I needed air, space… I was almost out the front door, Dale was standing at entrance removing the 'Out to Lunch' sign off the glass.

I paused, took a deep breath and by the time he turned to face me I had my pseudo smile plastered on my face.

"Ruth is gathering some things for me to take home," I said, my eyes wondering, searching for a place to hide.

"You've experienced a lot of loss in your young lifetime."

"Enough loss for Ruth's sixth sense to probably see a giant neon sign flashing above my head saying as much," I finally said, my voice taking on a bitter edge.

"Dying is an eventuality -Living is a choice."

"Did you read that in one of your books?"

"No. I read it in a fortune cookie last week," he said smoothly and then winked straight-faced at me. He left, pushing a cart of books to the other side of the store.

"Are you okay?" Rick asked, pulling me behind a shelf to embrace me.

"I think so. Dale is nice." I breathed in Rick's clean scent, pressing my cheek against his chest.

"He's cool...I don't like her much," he whispered. "For how spiritual she claims to be she's incredibly unaware."

"I don't know about that. She was particularly perceptive. And her smudge stick might've been the difference between me being safe behind a locked door last night and…" I couldn't bring myself to think about the alternative, let alone finish the sentence. Rick pressed his lips against the crown of my head and squeezed me a little tighter.

Ruth didn't have much for us, a box of iron nails she'd procured from the garden shed. She instructed me to nail three above each entrance in the house, including the fireplace and cautioned me to use the smudge stick again.

I'd lost my appetite for lunch so we headed home. Before last night's antics, I'd intended to go back to the station and keep working on organizing the cases for Maggie, but my energy was dwindling and frankly, I had no mental resources to do anything that resembled useful work. I called Maggie and told her I wasn't feeling well and that I'd come by first thing Monday to help out.

"Do you think this has anything to do with those missing girls?" I asked. "Maybe this is the reason they went missing…" It was awful to consider. There would be no resolution if that were the case. How could anyone credibly believe such a thing? 'Maenad' was not an acceptable cause of death.

"I had the same thought," he said quietly.

"Then what does it want with me then, I'm not a 15-year-old girl?"

Rick didn't respond. It seemed there was no satisfactory answer to that question.

When we got back to the cabin, Rick took Noah on the leash back to his place to pack some things. While they were gone, I got the fire and started and began the task of hammering three iron nails into the header above each entrance to the house. I also did each window that opened, for good measure. After smoking out the house with the smudge stick, I collapsed on top of my bed, not bothered to retrieve my blanket that was still downstairs on the couch. The roaring fire was pumping heat upstairs nicely so it wasn't needed.

I compared what Ruth had told me about the… thing…things…associating my encounters with my feelings helped. Aside from the healthy dose of fear, there was also a lure that I couldn't deny. It was terrible and flew in the face of any inherent survival instincts. I realized that with some degree of rationality, at least. Maybe it held some sort of authority over me? The whole thing still was so preposterous. I was still struggling to wrap my head around the situation. I drifted off to sleep and woke sometime later the late afternoon, there was a heavyweight behind me.

Oh my, it was Rick!

His form was pressed against mine, his steady breath, and soft against my neck. I rolled over to face him. I studied him in the light uninterrupted. His face was slack and peaceful. The faint lines across his forehead and at the corners of his eyes were shallow and marked paths like little rivers on a map, intimating a history I was still yet to learn.

His interest in me was puzzling. He was so out of my league it wasn't funny. It was my history and mental state that put me at a disadvantage. Was it convenience? I had to be the only single, female neighbor in the vicinity. But…I didn't think that was it. He clearly had offers from gorgeous women and taken up on them too. Not that my self-esteem was lacking. I knew I was attractive... but I was a down-home kind of beauty. Jessica is practically every man's type. I don't think she ever let a hair fly out of place. Rick had seen me disheveled more than he'd seen me put together. Gosh, I'd hardly worn make up around him too. I wondered what it was about me that had drawn him. The answer occurred to me with a start.

I was his muse.

I helped him write, so of course, his attraction to me was natural. Wasn't that the way of things? The artist always took up with the muse. I didn't think I minded. He was very accepting and patient with my history, after all. I would go back to Atlanta eventually and he had only a couple months left at his rental and to complete his novel. It was a low-risk interlude for both of us. I didn't put any stock in Dolores's warning about our newfound friendship. Either way, I was simply happy to have the spark of romantic feelings kindle inside me. I never thought much of moving on after my marriage. I considered it an eventual-maybe, it was likely I would have met someone down the track, but I could've handled the prospect of perpetual singleness for a while longer.

I must have dozed off again. I was awakened when I felt Rick's fingers brush down along my cheekbone. It was a tender gesture.

"Hello," he said, his voice low and raspy with sleep.

"Fancy meeting you here." I opened my eyes.

"It was meant to be." He smirked.

He brushed his lips against mine, settling his arm around my waist. His warm hand traveled slowly upward to caress the nape of my neck. I lost myself in his tentative, sleepy kiss, my tongue skimming lightly across his bottom lip and probing gently deeper. I closed the gap between us, slinging my leg up over his thigh and pulling his shoulder closer to me.

Rick murmured appreciatively in my mouth and his hand moved again, spanning the bare skin of my back from under my t-shirt. Shivers of pleasure raced through me. He was working me over so effortlessly. I rolled my hips against him and he groaned against my mouth, his hard length pressing on my hip.

Good god, Almighty-the man was packing heat.

He broke away and to look at me, his eyes hazy and lustful. I grinned and pecked at his bottom lip. My effect on him was like pure unadulterated female power.

"I'm going to make you dinner tonight," he said, after kissing me a final time. "I think you might enjoy helping me...would you?"

"If it's anything like this, then yes." I ran my hand through the back of his hair and brought his face back to mine to let him keep kissing me.

I needed a little more...

Once we made it downstairs, Rick set up his things around the counter island, Noah watching doubtfully from his spot by the living room fire. Likely checking to see if whatever we were making was worth the effort of him getting up to beg. Rick looked comfortably at home: barefoot, jeans, t-shirt, his curly hair mussed and sexy. He pulled ingredients from a grocery bag he'd brought with him and lastly withdrew a large metal pasta roller.

He set to work, preparing the dough and kneading. I sat on a bar stool, watching his forearm muscles ripple and coil from the effort as he pushed, hit, and pulled the dough into submission.

It was hot as hell.

Making fresh pasta was new to me and, as it turned out, unexpectedly fun. We laughed and chatted pleasantly as he helped me roll long sheets of fresh dough. He then showed me how to fold it back over and dust the sticky areas with flour, only to then roll it back through again and again. We cut thick noodles from the flat sheets and lay them on damp tea towels to prevent it drying out. The kitchen was a mess like a flour bomb had exploded but I was excited about our creation.

I sat back down at the bench, nursing a glass of wine, as Rick went on and cooked a simple pasta dish pairing the noodles with olive oil, garlic, sea salt and fresh green and red peppers. He served it with a side of steamed broccoli in white wine sauce. We moved to the couch to eat while listening to old R&B records.

I nearly died when I took the first bite. Rick watched me with brazen excitement waiting for the verdict.

"So. Good." There is no way to eat noodles elegantly, but I managed to restrain myself from wolfing it down in front of him. The oil coated my lips, "So darn good."

He grinned so broadly, like a child athlete receiving praise from the coach.

We put on a movie after dinner, The Princess Bride, a lighthearted film to match the evening's theme and I curled into him on the couch, my head tucked against his chest. After, Rick took Noah to the front garden to quickly do his business while I unpacked some clean linen to make up the spare bed. He found me standing at the door to the second bedroom.

"Everything okay?"

"This room is icy and needs a good airing. I haven't really been in here since I moved in."

"It's fine." He moved to take the sheets from my arms.

"You can sleep with me if you like."

He stilled, raising his brow at me.

"Don't get any ideas - just sleep," I said. "At least if anything happens then you'll be close."

"Oh, believe me. If anything happens it's because I'm close." He winked at me.

I rolled my eyes and went to the bathroom, there, I dressed in my pajamas and went through the list of my nightly rituals – brushing my teeth, flossing, washing and moisturizing my face.

When I was finished, I gave Rick free reign of the bathroom. He whistled low as he walked into the bathroom and patted his hand appreciatively on the deep tub with its outlook onto the lake. "You designed this room?" he asked.

"Yeah. When I planned the remodel for the whole house I actually started with the idea for this bathroom first and worked backward from there."

"I'm looking forward to trying this bath. I'm a sucker for a deep bath."

"You know what they say about counting chickens, Rick," I teased, leaving him in the bathroom.

I peeked through the curtains to outside, relieved to see the balcony was clear and undisturbed. I pulled the drapes fully open exposing the sliding doors and took in the view. Clouds were rolling past exposing patches of evening sky and moonlight. A deep feeling of foreboding and anticipation settled over me. This was the feeling I struggled to describe to Ruth. My fingers gripped tightly on the edge of the drapes. It was out there. Waiting. I couldn't see it, but I felt the truth of it deep in my bones.

I jumped when Rick touched my elbow. I didn't notice his arrival.

"Did you see something?" he asked.

"Turn off the light," I said.

He did as I asked and returned to my side in the dark. A minute passed while I scanned the trees, waiting for my eyes to adjust to the darkness. Rick and I had successfully avoided all difficult topics of conversation since leaving Roanoke. There was little to be said after leaving the Horvath's. Realistically, what could I do to prevent anything from happening? The 'expert' helping us was no expert in this at all. This was hardly a common dilemma for most people. I was on my own.

Period.

"There," I said, pressing my fingertip against the glass. Rick leaned forward squinting.

"Can you see it?" My breathing hallowed as I started out to the trees. It was hunched on a branch, about an acre away from the house, almost imperceptible against the dark branches of pine surrounding it. It stood out to me clearly though. Unnaturally tall, with elongated arms, even longer fingertips, so long it nearly touched the ground. Its form was now becoming recognizable, a deviation that stuck out like a sore thumb against the forested landscape.

I turned to Rick wondering if he could see it. He cupped his eyes over the glass and I held my breath. Maybe it was only in my head? Insanity scared me so much initially, but now… Now it was a welcome alternative. I could cope and deal with hallucinations and a mental condition. There were experts, medications. Help was readily available.

"What the… "He breathed. "I see it... Shit...Where's your gun?" he asked. "Should we call the witch...no fuck that, the police?"

I bit down hard on my bottom lip and gently moved Rick back a step so I could shut the drapes. I bought the gun down from the top shelf of my closet and set it under the bed within my reach. I moved the box of slugs to my bedside drawer. I wouldn't load the weapon just yet. If my theory was correct then I wouldn't need to use my gun tonight.

"No," I said, turning down the covers. "I think I'd like to see what it decides to do first. It disappeared as soon as you arrived last night. My theory is that it will stay away while you're here."

I got into bed and Rick remained standing and uncertain in the dark, not having moved from his position by the balcony door.

"You're just going to sleep with that thing out there?"

"Well, what would you suggest?"

He peeped through the curtains again not replying.

I didn't think he'd have a better suggestion.

He relented and climbed in next to me leaving a safe gap in the bed between us. I fussed with the blankets making sure the quilt was pulled up over both our shoulders.

"I don't know what you should do," he said eventually.

"Me either. And I can't stand it." I exhaled heavily.

"Why do you think it's watching you?" he whispered. His hand snaked out under the covers and he entwined his fingers with mine.

"Maybe it wants the recipe for my Gram's famous peach cobbler? I'm the last remaining person who knows it." It was my lame attempt at trying to lighten the mood. In the dark, I saw the white of Rick's teeth flash as he smiled at me in the dark.

"Or maybe it's dying to get in and try your new tub too."

I poked him in the ribs in mock annoyance and he jerked and gasped in a breath of laughter, and I descended on him with both hands tickling, thrilled to have discovered a weakness.

"Oh Please! Michonne please!" he cried, trying to defend his sides between his unsteady laughs. I eased up, but the devious hot Brit took the opportunity to launch his own assault, trying to lock me in place with his legs. We tumbled around laughing and getting tangled in the blankets until I managed to free myself. He was on top, but I grabbed hold of his wrists and held them out of the way. Growing up with an older brother gives you a certain edge when it comes to wrestling matches. Small, short laughs bubbled up between us every few moments as we tried to catch our breath. I dropped his wrists and his hands plopped onto the bed, then moved to rearrange the blankets but he pulled me into his arms. He fixed the blankets with one arm, while I got comfortable in the crook where his chest met his shoulder. He molded himself against me when finished, threading his foot between my calves, arm loosely cradling my waist.

"Just sleep," I muffled into his chest. While I said it with certainty, I didn't think I'd have the resolve to stop anything if he tried it. I knew I wanted to move slowly with Rick, but a girl can only resist Adonis for so long.

"Just cuddling," he affirmed, his nose buried in my hair.

It was a good feeling being wrapped in the arms of another after being so used to sleeping alone. His presence was comforting and new, making the darkness feel like it was safely enveloping us, rather than expansive and unknown.

Rick's body is similar to Daryl. Although Rick's body seems a little leaner and a lot cooler. Daryl was like sleeping next to a boulder. A hot boulder. Literally. I swore he ran a degree or two hotter than me, great for colder nights, but anything over sixty-five degrees and he was kicking off blankets complaining. Oh no… I was comparing, I realized with a guilt-ridden wrench. But surely it was expected on some level? I was so used to one man, it was natural to notice the differences in another.

"I haven't been with anyone since Daryl," I said, the darkness feeling easy to confess to.

"Is this hard for you?"

"Not as much as you'd think. The, um, mitigating circumstances have been good for putting personal difficulties into perspective."

"I bet. You know you can–"

The deafening crack of a snapping branch outside brought the conversation to an abrupt halt. We tensed against one another, listening, straining, and waiting for more. Beside my ear, Rick's heart kicked up with speed before gradually slowing again. Nothing further happened. Minutes crept by, neither of us able to speak.

Eventually, after what felt like hours but in reality probably much less, Rick's breathing slowed and evened out into the distinct rhythm of sleep. It was soon followed by the soft padding of Noah's paws as he loped up the stairs and settled onto the doggy bed.

I waited until the urge was unbearable until I was sure my sleeping companions were deep in there slumber. I carefully extricated myself from Rick and sat up. I loaded the slugs into the handgun quietly, the clack of their arrival into the magazine and barrel a reassurance. I returned the weapon to its spot on my side of the bed. My theory that it would leave us alone while Rick was here didn't seem so right now.

When I was a little girl, after Mom and Dad died, I had troubles sleeping. Insomnia and nightmares, mostly. I recalled Gram's cool hand stroking my forehead, and her soothing tone as she would whisper to me, trying to settle me to sleep.

 _'Give it to God then go to sleep, sweet pea.'_

I laid back next to Rick and spooned against him, drawing his arm back around my waist. I waited a long time before I felt the pull of sleep drawing me away.

I focused on the words, the comfort it used to bring. It all fell short. I can't give it to God, Gram. I think this is beyond even his help.


	15. Keeps On Ticking

Sleep came in short bursts through the night and I woke up feeling like I'd been dragged through the mud, the knowledge of what was outside shooting through me like a bucket of ice-water. I gave up at dawn and rolled quietly out of bed. I showered and dressed in the downstairs bathroom, I even put on a little makeup.

A light snow was falling, so I bundled up and took Noah outside to go potty. I discovered the source of the loud cracking sound from the night before. One of the smaller pine trees had completely snapped at the base and fallen across my yard. The forest that surrounded the cabin was old and huge, so even for a smaller pine, it was still a good 20 foot; it hadn't broken clean off, part of it still attached to its trunk. I stood on the deck, refusing to move further, and gripped the wooden railing, calling Noah back in as soon as he'd finished.

Back inside, I realized that Rick and I had left the kitchen a mess from cooking. That was a huge oversight for me. I didn't think I'd ever been to bed without cleaning up the kitchen first. Rick was a distraction, but, as I happily mused, the best kind. By the time I'd finished cleaning up and put on a pot of coffee Rick had emerged from upstairs.

"Good Morning." He settled onto a kitchen stool; his dark curls where wildly disheveled and one side matted down. "Sleep well?"

I shrugged, "Kind of," and poured him a mug of coffee. I began drying the pots.

"What are your plans for today?" I asked him.

"I'm heading down to my place to work for a while today. I have my notes and timelines to sort through."

"Oh, so that's what that heap of papers scattered all over your couch is all about?"

"That mess is an organized system of novel planning and preparation." He made a face pretending to be offended.

"Really..." I said, deliberately lacing my tone with skepticism. "You know I'm the queen of organization. I put people with OCD to shame."

"I did notice your underwear drawer was organized by color and type." He waggled his brows at me.

"You didn't!" I threw the wet sponge at his face. He laughed and threw it back. I snatched it from the air and narrowed my eyes at him. "You're a Peeping-Tom!"

"And you own a lot of small lacy things."

I felt my face heat and I rolled my eyes at him.

"You and Noah are welcome to tag along with me today," he said, changing the subject before I could scold him more. "I can't promise I'll be much company though."

"Okay. It's Sunday and I have nothing on the agenda for today."

"Good." He smiled.

"Good." I smiled back.

After breakfast, I grabbed my gun and we walked through the woods. Rick and I first paused to examine the downed tree and he offered to cut it into logs for me the next day. I accepted, cracking a joke about his expertise in tree demolishing. Neither of us speculated on how it fell, but some things were better left unsaid. The rest of the walk was silent and brisk, both of us on high alert.

Rick's place was freezing cold and while he got the fire going I made another pot of coffee. I needed as much of a caffeine boost as I could get. I was determined not to nap the day away. I settled on the sectional while Rick crouched by the low bookshelf that served as his television stand. He scanned his small book collection trying to pick something for me. My eye caught the name Walter Mosley and I picked up one of my favorite 40's Noir mystery books.

"Good pick," Rick settled on the dining table with his laptop, papers scattered all around him, wearing a pair of glasses that were all kinds of crazy-sexy. He caught me staring a handful of times and simply responded with a dazzling grin. I was debating the need to sit on my hands to stop myself from dragging him to the hot tub right then and there. I'd hadn't forgotten his promise of the hot tub, so I'd made sure to stuff my bikini into the pocket of my jacket before leaving for his place.

I was soon pulled into the narrative of my story and barely aware of the backing soundtrack of noisy keyboard strokes coming from his laptop. Time passed and Rick leaned back in his seat, stretching his clasped hands high above him. When I looked up from my book he announced he was making us lunch. He dug in the fridge and cabinets and to my surprise, pulled together the makings of a ham, cheese, and tomato sandwich. He leaned against the kitchen counter beside the stove, grilling them, flipping the sandwiches with a steel spatula every so often. We ate one sandwich as he prepared a few more to cook.

"You ready for the main attraction?" He maneuvered around the counter and pulled me in for a kiss.

"Well, if you mean the hot tub, then yes…"

The hot tub on the downstairs deck was terraced, with the tub sitting on the lowest terrace, pretty well obscured from the view of the living area. Rick pulled off the snow cover and I whooped in excitement when I saw steam rising from underneath.

I went upstairs to the full-sized bathroom and quickly pulled off my clothes and underthings. I hoped Rick was ready to hop in the tub after eating. I slipped into my bikini before pulling my fitted black jeans and burgundy sweater back over the top. I stuffed my bra and panties into my back pocket, aiming to hide them in my jacket that I'd left back downstairs.

I couldn't wait to sit out there in the tub with the snow falling around us and relax. Okay, yes, maybe fool around a little too. I bit my lip in excitement and shut the bathroom door when I heard the sounds of conversation and female laughter drifting up from the stairway.

I stood on the top step and listened, my stomach sinking incomprehension. As I walked down the stairs, Rick looked at me from the stove like a deer caught in headlights, spatula still in hand.

Jessica stood in the kitchen, dressed impeccably in a long red trapeze coat, sheer black tights and leather over-the-knee riding boots. She was clutching a condensation covered bottle of champagne in one hand and a… A joint?

Really...

"Michonne! You're here too! Lovely to see you again." She blew me an air kiss from across the kitchen. "I thought I could tempt the handsome Mr. Grimes here away from his hard work with Sunday afternoon libations. You are most welcome to join us… There's plenty to go around." She waved the liquor and marijuana. "And let me tell you, that hot tub is plenty big enough for the three of us."

"Oh no. Thank you. Really. Don't let me interrupt. I was just heading home." The words came out as soon as the thought formed and even to my ears, sounded like a jumbled mess. Humiliation prickled like hot needles in my chest, moving steadily in my brain. I scooped my things from where I'd left them on the kitchen bench and Noah was immediately at my heel, sensing my departure.

"Michonne, wait," Rick called.

I jammed my feet into my hiking boots, not bothering to lace them, removed my gun from my coat and secured it in my waistband.

"No, no. It's okay." I didn't fail to miss the curious look Jessica measured between me, the gun, and Rick.

"Hold up, just wait." He'd put the spatula down and was moving towards me.

"No, really. It's fine, enjoy your afternoon. Just give me a call later or something. Good to see you, Jessica. Tell Greg I'd love to catch up sometime soon."

I was outside with the front door shut behind me, I quickly put some distance between myself and the world's most awkward scene. I directed Noah up the driveway, opting to take the open environment over the forest. I half jogged as I pulled my coat on. My phone was buzzing in the front pocket.

Argh! I wanted to scream. I handled that poorly, running away like an idiot and Jessica… How anyone could look graceful and sexy in a trapeze coat was beyond me, but she achieved it. Was she even wearing anything under it? Probably just a skimpy swimsuit. I knew they had slept together, she'd made that abundantly clear when I saw her last. Memories of my final summer as a teen at Blue Ridge Lake and Spencer clouded my thoughts and I ground my teeth in anger.

I tugged my bra and underpants from my back pocket, horror sweeping over me at what they must have thought seeing me flee with my undies protruding out of my jeans' pocket. I shoved them into my jacket and focused on keeping up with Noah, he was thrilled to be outside and stretching his legs. Once I reached the point where our driveways ran parallel, I crossed through the narrow stand of trees and headed back down to my cabin. I let myself in and shot the deadbolt. I leaned my forehead against the oak door and bumped it in frustration.

Stupid, stupid, stupid.

I deposited the gun into the case and flopped onto the couch, not bothering to shed the boots or coat.

"I shouldn't have run away...right, Noah?" He stood beside me, tongue out and panting. "But he could have, should have said something. Or, you know, sent her packing."

I fished my phone out from my pocket. One missed call and one message.

 _I sent her home. Please call me..._

I stared at the screen, stationary with uncertainty. The phone vibrated in my hand.

 _Also, why was your bra hanging out of your back pocket?_

I pulled Gram's afghan down over my face and groaned in frustration and embarrassment. Mostly embarrassment. Minutes passed and I heard the indicative rumble of a car coming down the drive, followed by tapping at the door.

"Michonne...Michonne, it's me." Rick's voice muffled called out to me.

I pulled the blanket off me and sat up, drawing a deep breath trying to rouse the last shreds of my dignity.

"I'm sorry," he said when I got the door open. "I made her leave. She always comes over at the worst times."

"She always comes over?" I asked. I didn't pull the door all the way open, instead choosing to keep half my body behind it. Ready to slam if needed.

"No!" he said quickly. "But she likes to catch me by surprise. I can't exactly tell her to get lost. She owns the house."

"Yes, she told me she was renting it to you when I saw her in town the other day." I opened the door a little wider.

"Once I got to know her, I no longer liked her. She reminds me too much of the New York types I have to socialize with for all publishing and marketing events I'm dragged to. She has this false veneer she keeps up all the time."

"That's for sure. She acts like we're the best of friends. We're really not."

He raked a hand through his hair, gently tugging at it.

"I slept with her once. When I first arrived. I don't know what I was thinking. It was a terrible idea."

"I know what you were thinking and that's not news to me."

"She told you?" His eyes widened.

"Uh-huh."

"Shit."

"Well…Awkward, more than anything."

We stared at each other. Rick with a large measure of uncertainty and an accumulated spoon of remorse; me with apprehension.

"There's a bit of bad blood between me and Jessica," I offered, opening the door and moving my hip around it. Rick didn't say anything so I went on. "Jessica and her brother Gareth were part of the group of friends Maggie and I used to hang out with when I was here vacationing. Gareth was the brooding type and Jessica was super perky, overly nice and always inviting me to her parties. Their grandparents and mine were also friends, part of a large social circle who lived and vacationed here regularly back in the day. So I spent time with them off and on growing up. Her family was - well, still is - very rich. They own the big ski resort and other luxurious vacation properties and Jessica would host these huge parties up there when it was closed for the season. I had a boyfriend the summer that would be my last here before the cabin sold. I'd never had a serious boyfriend before. Spencer and I were moving slowly in the, uh, sexual department. He and I had a big date planned and we decided to take it the next step. The Anderson's threw a last minute party at the resort, the date was canned and he took me up there instead. By the end of the night he ended up in Jessica's bed and I hitched a lift home with Glenn and Maggie. Apparently, Spencer and Jessica had an off and on -thing before I was in the picture. Jessica snapped her fingers and decided it was on again, even though she knew we were together. Spencer had no problem ditching me, he became really nasty after that. "

I shrugged ruefully.

"And I got over Spence quickly...time, distance, and the fact he was a total douche helped. But Jessica's betrayal really hurt. She and I were friends. Her grandfather always made an effort to be nice to both Morgan and me, to make us feel welcome. I thought she genuinely liked me until she just blew me off and told me to get over it like it was no big deal."

"Her snapping fingers had no effect on me," he took my hand and stroked the back of it gently with his thumb.

"Well, I can see that now," I huffed, pulling my hand away. "But just seeing you in the same room…knowing she's been with you…it hit an old raw nerve. " At that moment, I realize, I wasn't over her betrayal. "Bottom line- I still don't like her."

"Good," He grinned, "Because I don't like her either, even less now knowing what kind of friend she was to you."

"Good." I folded my arms across my chest, I still felt vulnerable.

"So," he tugged playfully at my sweater. "Care to explain why you stormed out with a white lacy bra in your back pocket?"

"I was in the bathroom changing you big freak!"

"Well let's go, he said pulling me in for a quick kiss. Stop wasting time, I got hot sandwiches and a hot tub waiting for us."

I placed a blanket in the back of Rick's SUV and guided Noah into the blanketed seat as I hitched a ride across the road. I couldn't believe it. Rick moved past my tantrum like it was nothing. His hand on my thigh as we chatted and joked along the way. Lord, that man has a way of putting me at ease. We ate our now cold sandwiches on the couch while Rick shared with me the plot of the novel he is working on.

"I must warn you, my protagonist love interest personality may bear some resemblance to yours, and he said eyes flashing with mischief.

"Oh, I'm sure I replied breezily. I know I'm your muse."

"Is that so," He forgot his lunch and pounced on me, propping himself above me. "You think your clever don't you?"

"I know I'm clever." I lifted my head and captured a kiss on his lips as I tugged the socks off my feet, "In fact, I graduated second in my class." I said truthfully. I moved my hand down between our bodies to pop the top button of my jeans. His eyes widen and took on a lustful gaze. Before he could make a move, I rolled from under him and bolted for the sliding doors. I managed to shimmy off my clothes and jump into the hot tub before he caught up.

Rick opted not to chase me, instead, he bolted upstairs to change. I closed my eyes and enjoyed the cool pecks of moisture from the snowflakes landing on my face, letting the jet of bubbles work their magic on my legs. I didn't hear Rick step outside but knew he had arrived when the water sloshed as he climbed in. He was donning black swim trunks.

Damn, his abs are a sight to behold.

"Did you want a drink?" he asked, holding two bottles of beer in his hands. I quickly shook my head no so he sat down and lifted my foot into his lap. The way his firm knuckles clutched and harmonized all my aching muscles and tendons caused every single coherent thought to fly right out of my mind, down the mountain and into the lake.


	16. History Repeats

Ruth arrived quarter past ten that morning, her entourage/coven emerged from an older model SUV with duffle bags, books, and mostly smiling faces.

She'd brought four of her allies with her: Siddiq, a willowy guy in his late-30s who seemed more like an accountant than a spell caster; Tamiel, a softly spoken redhead; Brooke, a surly looking middle-aged woman dressed in the requisite goth attire; and finally, Mara, a perky early-20s brunette who looked like every other ski-bunny that crowded the slopes during the winter months.

I ushered them inside and they settled around the dining table while I served tea and coffee. I placed a serving tray of freshly baked snickerdoodle muffins beside a smaller platter of cut fruit and took my place at the head of the table. Rick stood behind me to my right, leaning back against the window frame, his signature smirk in place.

Ruth asked me to recount the happenings of the last few weeks, which I did to the rather enraptured audience. I worked to keep the tremor from my voice and retell it simply like I was recounting the plot of a movie to a curious acquaintance. My life, of late, had often felt like it could be a plot to a movie. And a bad movie, at that.

Ruth inclined her head once I had finished and I took that as my cue to leave, moving to the kitchen where I busied myself with the remains of the dishes and tried to work off my nervous energy through my idle hands. I tried my hardest not to listen to their hushed, excited tones and before long they moved outdoors.

Rick sat up on the kitchen bench and watched them from the window, helping himself to the muffins that were left on the cooling rack.

"There's a lot of chanting and hand-holding going on out there," he chortled between bites. "Ah, that scrawny fellow is holding up a ceremonial knife!" He let out a sudden gust of laughter.

"Zip it," I hissed, worried they might notice him gleefully watching from the window. "They're here to help. Who knows, they might be successful and that- that beastly thing will fuck off… maybe all it needs is a push from some well-intentioned…"

"Coven of hippies?"

I whacked his leg playfully with my dish towel.

"Shut your face, Rick!"

"Hey – I just cauldron like I see them." He chuckled and I groaned and left him to his muffin buffet, moving to the first-floor bathroom to release Noah from where he was confined.

He was eagerly waiting for me, tail thumping, and his excitement palpable at the prospect of new playmates waiting outside. I threw on my outdoor gear and hooked the leash and we went out for a little walk and to watch from afar.

They kept themselves busy for the next hour, sprinkling a large bag of salt in a circle around my home, placing large river stones at each of the cardinal points, and chanting together. They finally disbanded and I wandered over. They were in good spirits, even surly Brooke, and I was buoyed by a sense of hope from their positivity. Maybe this would mark the end page on an awful episode in the life of Michonne?

Noah dragged at my arm, doing his best to dislocate my shoulder, but I held him firm.

"How did it go?" I asked.

Mara squatted a little to scratch the top of Noah's head.

"As well as can be expected," she said, looking up at me. I saw the flash of concern and doubt in her eyes.

"You think it won't work," I said flatly, my hope swiftly bursting like a balloon.

"No, no, I think it may help, though from what you've said about Eurinome, I'm not sure for how long or how strong the banishments will protect you." She stood to her feet and drew me away by the arm, darting a cautious glance over her shoulder to the rest of the group. They were busying themselves with packing up their supplies and chatting amongst themselves. "Look, between you and me, I'm not part of this coven. I'm just here in town to work the winter season up on the mountain."

I opened my mouth to speak, object to her presence, but she held up her palm to stop me.

"I am a Wiccan, though. I am under the guidance of a damn good witch back in Maine. None of these amateurs can remotely compare." She dropped her voice to a whisper. "I don't want Ruth to leave you with any false ideas about how much we can do to help."

"Well, she already said there was little she could do to influence it, but what she's suggested so far has seemed to have helped."

"Or it could be the company you're keeping." Her eyes traveled over my shoulder to the cabin.

"Yeah, that was a theory I was floating too…"

"It wants to catch you alone. I can't tell if it's totally attached to you, the place or both, either way, it's here, and it's waiting for a chance."

A chance for what? I shivered with dread, masking it with a stern nod of my head.

"I know you said that you didn't want to leave, but you really should consider it. Or at the very least just make sure you are never, ever left alone here." Her wide brown eyes implored me. She was young and still so innocent looking, with her wavy brown hair cropped in a short bob and her face free of fine lines. It made her pleading all the more effective. Like a wide-eyed Noah begging me for scraps.

I sighed, tugging at the leash apprehensively.

"You're right, I don't want to leave. But Rick has to go away next week for Christmas…So, I'll be here on my own for two weeks."

She shook her head resolutely.

"You can't do that. You absolutely should not be out here on your own."


	17. You Won't Be Denied

I was being shaken, panic and fear causing me to shout and lash out with my arms.

"Michonne. Michonne! You're dreaming."

Rick tried to still my hands but I pushed blindly away from him, sitting up with a gasp. The thin early morning light was peeking from around the blinds. He placed his warm hand on my back but I shook it off, scooting to the edge of the bed and grabbing the water bottle off the nightstand. I unscrewed the cap and drank deeply. Flashes of dream memory toyed with the edges of my consciousness like an echo down a long hall after a door slammed. I couldn't remember what I'd dreamed of but it was an awful, suffocating feeling. The feeling of being confined in a tight space.

"I'm okay. Thanks for waking me."

I laid back down and curled my back against him, his arm pulling me tight. My tongue and teeth felt fuzzy, my face oily. I'd fallen asleep buck naked without brushing my teeth or washing off my makeup. Our bubble from the day before had popped and reality was rising as surely as the sun over the lake.

It wants you, Michonne. That awful thing is waiting. It won't stop until it gets what it wants. It was easy to give credence to Dolores's words after a dream like that.

"I could get used to this." He nipped at my shoulder.

"Huh?" My mind was elsewhere. I tried to shake the dark thoughts away.

"You naked in my bed. This." His hand smoothed over the curve of my bottom, slipping between my thighs.

"Oh," I breathed.

We stayed spooning as we had sex, our legs a sweaty tangle, my head resting over Rick's outstretched arm on the bed while his free hand reached over my hip and further down to stroke me. This time, it took longer for me to relax into the moment, but his insistent touching eventually coaxed a powerful orgasm from me. I clasped his arm around my shoulders tightly as I surrendered. Rick succumbed a moment later, the both of us thrusting hard against the other.

"Yes, definitely can get used to this." He nuzzled his scratchy cheek into the back of my neck, his chest vibrating as he murmured happily.

We took turns showering, much to Rick's disappointment, but I wanted to get back to my place and get ready for a day helping Maggie at the station.

"Wouldn't you rather spend the day in bed with me?" He knew I couldn't stay but he was trying his best to make it hard on me, toweling himself dry by the fire right where I could see.

We walked back to my place, Noah zipping ahead, his form sprightly across the soft powder deposited over the last twenty-four hours. It was harder going for me, my boots sinking into the drift and I was keenly feeling the ache in the most sensitive areas from my adventures with Rick.

I didn't bother lighting the fire and just turned on the electric heating when we got in. The cabin was an icebox, condensation misting the windows in my absence. Rick made the coffee while I cooked us French toast.

Rick sent me on my way with a kiss that almost crumbled my resolve but I forced myself out the door and drove into town, feeling mixed about leaving the cabin. Happy to get away from the bad things that lingered there, but immediately missing the company of a certain curly haired Brit who knew how to press all my right and wrong buttons.

Heath nodded to me when I entered the station, barely lifting his eyes from his paperwork. So much for the in-roads, I'd created with him on the previous Friday. I guessed he was back to not appreciating my presence at the station. I stuck my head in Maggie's doorway, but she was on the phone. She grinned and waved me through to the conference room.

I began working on my laptop, setting up a spreadsheet with columns of personal information for each girl so commonalities could be easily seen; family members, friends, hobbies, extracurriculars, teachers, physicians. There was a lot of overlap. It was a small town.

 **Kathi Simpson, aged 17, missing since June of '95, last seen at home by her mom.**

 **Pamela Watson, aged 16, missing since August '96 after failing to return home from a day on the lake.**

 **Lori Maxwell, aged 16, missing since June '97, last seen at home as parents left for work. Her parents thought she had plans to meet friends in Roanoke that day, no evidence or witnesses to support this.**

 **Dana Logan, aged 15, missing September '98, last seen riding her bike down one of the main roads in Blue Ridge at dusk.**

Three of the girls had the same doctor, their parents all knew each other, they shared many of the same teachers at high school, and they all loved skiing and swimming at the lake during summer. One girl even worked a summer as a lifeguard. I couldn't remember Aaron ever mentioning it, but it was before my time.

"I'm paying a visit to someone tomorrow afternoon in Utah." Maggie just about skipped into her seat across from me.

"A suspect?"

"No. Well, maybe. He was a long-haul trucker in the 90s and 2000s. Came through fairly regularly, had an off and on 'thing' for a couple years with a barmaid at Joe's from '97 through '99." She leaned forward in her seat to me, placing her flat palms on the table. "And get this, he served a short prison stint in 2003 for aggravated assault. He picked up a prostitute hitching along the 95 and beat the crap out of her when she refused some kind of bondage sex act. She managed to escape him at a truck stop when he stopped for the bathroom."

"Geez, that's awful. It could certainly fit with the timeline of the girls, though. M-O could be right."

"I'm not getting my hopes up, but it's a lead." Her relief was palpable.

I showed her the spreadsheet I'd been working on and she had me email it to Heath to continue fleshing out. I shared with Maggie how one girl, Kathi, had spent a summer lifeguarding. Maggie knew this but wasn't sure if Bob had ever talked to Aaron. I told of the invite Aaron had extended to me to visit him at the ranger station and Maggie asked me to bring it up and see if he remembered anything.

"I'm still re-interviewing everyone involved. So just see if he remembers anything of interest – don't worry I'll get around to interviewing him properly," she hastily added. I must have looked a little panicked at the request. It was one thing to interview the opposing party during a deposition or in court but a completely different thing when it was part of an official police investigation.

I spent the rest of the morning listening to old cassette tapes from Bob's interviews when Kathi first went missing, reading through the corresponding transcripts at the same time. Dear Lord, Sheriff Stockey was an unsympathetic ass. It was no wonder Heath was so disillusioned with Maggie's efforts.

A few hours later Maggie tapped my shoulder and told me she was paying for lunch. "If you won't let me pay you for your time then I'm buying you food," she told me.

She took me to Abe's Big Deck, the local bar, and grill, and we ordered burgers, fries with a pitcher of home-brewed ginger ale. Abe, stopped by to greet Maggie. Maggie introduced me to him and he shook my hand, good-naturedly welcoming me back town. He was maybe a little older than us, bright red hair buzzed short and broad shoulders, the kind of broad shoulders were built by hauling kegs to and from the bar. He promised me a free jug of beer as a welcome if I ever decided to visit during Friday night happy hour.

"It's time to fess up, Chonne," Maggie said as soon as Abe walked back to the bar.

"What now?" I topped up our glasses with ginger ale and set the pitcher back down.

"I think it's time you tell me what's going on up at your place." Her face was stone-cold. Her eyes drove into me.

I froze, my breath catching, wondering how much she knew, who had she talked too…

"Start with what you know and I can fill in the gaps," I hedged.

"Don't you lawyer me, Jones."

"I don't really know where to begin..."

"Maybe begin with why Sasha Williams saw you walking arm in arm down Main Street, Blue Ridge with someone fitting the description of the neighbor formerly known as your nemesis?"

I let out a gusty laugh. "Oh geez, is that what you're talking about? I thought…"

"Thought what?" Her eyes narrowed suspiciously.

"Nothin'". And yes, Rick and I… Have something going on."

"Uh-huh." I could tell already she was going to dredge every last piece of information from me.

"We're together, I guess." I shrugged. "There's not much to tell." Assigning labels this early seemed rash. I could hardly say we were dating, but we were definitely more than friends. The ache between my thighs was proof in the pudding.

"Have you guys slept together?"

I frowned, not entirely happy with her probing.

"Michonne," her brow pinched together. "You're stuck all the way up at the lake on your own."

"And what's that supposed to mean? Stop sugar coating it, Maggie. That's not your style."

"You slept with him already? Is that a smart idea?"

"I'm sorry, didn't you tell me just a few weeks ago that I needed to 'get on that'?'" I folded my arms.

"I was half lit that night, doesn't count… How well do you even know him?" she continued, "you came back here to deal with everything that's happened to you – to give yourself a break. I don't want to see you get hurt. You do know that he and Jessica...?"

"Oh, for heaven's sake, is she just running around and telling the whole town about that? That was months ago before I even knew him." I shook my head. "You'd think growing up in Blue Ridge I'd get used to small-town gossip."

Our meals arrived and Maggie picked up the bun and stuffed some of her fries into her burger. I did the same. The rush of déjà vu was fierce. We were teens again eating burgers after a day spent hiking through the park trails and jumping off rocks into the crisp summer waters of the lake. And yes, even back then she would cut me to the quick, grilling and pick apart my crushes. She had the protect portion of 'protect and serve' down pat way before she ever joined the force.

"He's a good man," I said after taking a few bites of my meal. "I haven't been in a position to meet someone new and this happened naturally. It doesn't feel weird. And you're right, I don't know him other than the basics. Doesn't mean I'm being foolish."

"You don't know that."

"Just chill, Mag. He's only here for a couple more months and then he's back home to New York."

She nodded then, seeming satisfied with my response. She had my best interests at heart, but I didn't need her guarding them. If anything, I could do with her guarding my physical self, but there was no easy way to explain that amount of crazy. Believe me, I had turned the thought back and forth and every-which-way over.

The afternoon moved quickly. I finished listening to Kathi's father's police interview and needed a break. It was nasty, accusations flying back and forth between her father and Bob. Bob sounded half pissed through the entire interview. I couldn't imagine the pressure he was under at the time, still not a good excuse. I refilled my cup of coffee and pulled my phone from my purse.

 _How's your work going? Did I inspire you enough last night & this morning? ;-)_

His reply buzzed through a minute later.

 _YES! I also accept inspiration in picture and text form._

 _You'll be waiting a while for that kind of inspiration._

 _You're telling me there's a chance if I wait long enough?_

My heart quickened, I laughed and put the phone down. As I continued reviewing the evidence, my eyes were drawn to the bathroom door across the hall from me. I chewed my lip, considering the risk. I'd never been in a relationship like this. An interlude. An affair with a predetermined end date. We had our own lives to return to after Blur Ridge, and as I'd told Maggie, we only have a couple months left to spend together. Whatever we did would have no long-term consequences. I could afford to live in the now.

I took a few pictures...

Now, my phone was blowing up with messages from Rick by the time I got back from the bathroom, I stuffed my cell into my bag without daring to look. His reaction would have to wait.

Rick practically pounced on me when I let myself in the front door that evening, and I was grateful, even desperate, for the distraction as we began stripping our clothes right there in the entryway. Listening to those interviews hung a dark cloud over my head.

It put my life and the loss I'd experienced into perspective. I had never had cause to be thankful for it, but after everything, I'd just listened to...? I was thankful, in an awful, macabre way. I was thankful that the loss I'd experienced was all under known parameters – all relatively normal circumstances that I could feel comfortable with when going to sleep at night. Death caused by misfortune or old age. But the grief of losing someone and not knowing the where, how or why had to be gut-wrenching. A kind of loss that would refuse to subside. A wound that would fester and never heal.

Rick picked me up and I wrapped my legs around his waist.

"Oh, how I've missed those," he crooned, nuzzling into the valley between my breasts. "Fantastic on camera but even better in the flesh."

I laughed and he led us to the living room couch, where I let him continue distracting me until my toes curled and I was chanting his name.

The next morning, I was surprised to discover I'd slept the whole night through undisturbed. It was a first since I'd arrived at the lake. The night was also fantastically incident free. Rick was wrapped around me like white on rice with his big toe stroking my calf up and down.

"Good morning," he murmured into my hair. I rolled to face him.

"Morning." My voice was croaky. I wondered how long he'd been lying there awake.

"I'm so glad I chose here instead of Vermont."

"It was a near thing, huh?"

"What made you choose here?"

"Too far to drive back home if I got sick of it."

"Sick of it?"

"Sick of trying to force a book from nothing."

"Will you go back for Christmas?" The question had been nagging me. Neither of us had mentioned the holiday but the closer it drew the harder it was to ignore.

"I have to. I've had tickets booked since I arrived. The publisher has a big end-of-year event I'm expected to attend and 's annual Christmas day buffet she hosts. Plus, there's some business I have to sort out in the city…" he trailed off from his rambling, looking unhappy. Uncomfortable. I wasn't expecting an invite but it sure made me feel like he was making excuses for not giving one. I filed that thought away for later consideration.

"That's fine," I said, patting his chest. "I have plans for Christmas day and Jessica's family's resort hosts a big New Year's bash every year. Will you be back for that?"

He shook his head, disappointment crossing his features.

"I wish I'd met you before booking my tickets. I'm going to be away for two weeks. I don't want you staying here on your own."

I shrugged. "It'll be fine. Maybe there's another single, male neighbor to the other side of my place who I can convince to stay with me?"

He growled and rolled over on top of me, boxing me in with his limbs.

"Not. Going. To. Happen." He punctuated each word with a hard kiss.

"Whoa, big boy." I looped my arms behind his neck. "Two weeks sure is going to be hard without you."

Rick passed over the obvious sex joke lurking in my words and simply replied with a subdued, "I know."


	18. How Soon Is Now

"What do you believe?" I asked, staring down at the treetops to the lake. A few geese were slowly making their way across the water, triangular ripples blooming behind them as they went.

"You mean spiritually?"

I made a noise of confirmation. He wrapped his arms around my waist and I let my head drop back to his shoulder.

"That's a tough question to answer. It's not something I've ever given a lot of thought to. But now…"

"It's hard not to think about it now."

"Yes... For me, it's now a given that there is more to this world than science can explain. Or maybe it can be explained, we just lack the necessary tools or cognition to fully grasp it. It's a pretty scary idea if you think about it."

"You're telling me. You know, death used to be the pinnacle of fear for me. So final and awful. While I like the idea that my loved ones are in heaven watching down on me, the reality of leaving the real world behind, that whole process of dying - it's terrifying. You're here one minute and then the next you've left the mortal realm to go on this..." I searched for the right word. 'Unknown voyage', I found it terrifying, but it pales now."

"There's comfort that can be found in death. It's something we will all have in common with everyone alive today on earth, and with everyone who has ever lived. It's the one thing humanity can eventually count on."

I chewed on that thought for a moment before speaking.

"I can appreciate that. Maybe now more than ever. Those missing girls - it's been so long, and honestly, there's no question that they're dead. But the time from when they went missing to their eventual demise – that unknown chunk of time - that is what frightens me. So much potential there for horror. The idea there's unknown beasts, human and otherwise, that lurk out there without our knowledge. They could be everywhere and we just don't know. Probably right under our noses."

"Aren't you full of unknown depths." Rick pressed a kiss on the top of my shoulder.

"Well damn, don't sound so shocked."

"You said you worked yourself practically to the bone, so I have zero pre-conceived notions," he explained, laughing. "I just pictured you tearing apart the courtroom, terrifying your neighbors, and micromanaging every little aspect of your life."

"Ouch." I elbowed him in the side. He sounded like he was only half joking. Not like I could take offense, he was pretty well spot-on.

"Then tell me. How does Michonne Jones amuse herself?"

"Well... I like going out for dinner, trying new places and new foods. I love old movies, especially musicals. I can't say I've made a lot of time for my social life the last few years, but most of my free time was spent with my nephews, my brother, and his wife. I love being outdoors. Daryl was part of a biker club so we used to go on tours with the club if we had a free weekend together. I played volleyball, I competed at the state level in volleyball back when I was an undergrad at GSU."

"In those itty-bitty outfits?"

"Yes, you perv. My Gram was horrified but somehow never said a negative thing about it. Morgan, on the other hand, he all but forbade me from playing. Not that I listened. I was good at the sport. I turned awkwardly to face Rick, "What about you? Tell me more about your life. How do you fill your free time? Tell me about your past relationships and all that."

Yes, I was fishing. I hoped subtly. Rick raised a brow at me. Okay, maybe not so subtly. I smiled sweetly at him.

"There's really not a lot to tell. Before you, it's been years since I've had anyone significant in my life. I play a bit of social basketball, keep multiple cafes afloat just with my coffee habit alone, I read a lot, a whole lot. I prefer to keep quiet. That can be an uphill battle in New York, especially when your closest friend is Karen, whose social life rivals most New York socialites. My publisher forces me to attend stuff too – benefits, openings for other authors; PR type events."

"Is that typical?" I never imagined authors having to do so much marketing and schmoozing."

He shifted uneasily beneath me and turned his head to take in the view from the window.

"Well, back when I was their golden child, yes. They liked to show me off. Not so much now." He shrugged. "I'm looking forward to being released from my contract."

I traced a finger across the crease that had formed between his brows; he smiled and swiveled me completely around so we were facing closely chest to chest, still between his legs.

"I'm the most significant girl in a while, huh?" I teased. A secret buzz shot excitement through me at the notion. His blue eyes caught mine and burned with an emotion that consumed me completely. My breath hitched.

"Oh, yes my darling."

I straddled his lap so we were looking eye to eye. "I like that." I placed a soft kiss on his jaw and worked my lips closer to his ear. "Call me that again," I whispered.

He murmured the endearment in my ear as his hands caressed their way down my back to cup my ass. I ground against him, thrilled by the physical effect I had on him.

"Again," I breathed, our parts touching, tempting one another.

He called me darling once more, this time following it up with words and promises of acts that would have surely slain me if he didn't make good on them immediately.

"Take me to bed…" I said, demanding, seductive. Without hesitation, he did as he was told.

* * *

The next week passed in a gloriously peaceful way. We frittered the time away between making love, going for walks, and cooking. His Christmas trip was looming closer and closer, though I found myself focusing more on the end of February when he would be leaving Blue Ridge for good. He would head back to New York City, probably without a second glance, finished the manuscript in hand. I didn't know how to feel about that.

Only in the cold light of pre-dawn, a time I still spent mostly awake, could I surrender my denial and accept that Rick had squirreled his way into my heart. He was deeper than I thought I was capable of allowing someone so soon after losing Daryl – and in such a short space of time too. Regardless, our moments together were lighthearted. We steered away from any serious topics, emotionally and ghostly-related. Perhaps foolishly, it was easier to ignore those things when neither were issues staring us in the face. Rick, nor I, addressed the fact we would inevitably part ways, and other than the odd feeling of being watched, it seemed like all otherworldly creatures were leaving me alone.

Rick was in good spirits, especially when it came to writing. He was proceeding at a great pace and I'd taken to lying on the couch with a wine in the evenings while he read his day's work to me. For such a simple act, it was an incredibly intimate experience. I loved the lilt of his voice and the way it would draw me to a different place. I didn't offer suggestions but occasionally asked questions regarding the plot or trying to uncover character motivations that would inevitably send him back to the laptop, burning up the keyboard.

Despite everything, I couldn't shake the feeling he was holding back when it came to me. Sometimes it would be in the way I'd catch him staring at me, in a troubled sort of way or like he was toying with a decision. Other times it was just a gut feeling. I gave him time in that regard, I figured whatever it was couldn't affect us too badly given the time constraints of our relationship. And honestly, I had to hold myself back too. We were effectively living together, at least in the short term, and the winter-wonderland vacation vibe only seemed to multiply the effects of our honeymoon phase.

Over the course of the week, I'd spent three more days working with Maggie at the station and a couple mornings. I had completed the large poster boards and timelines for the walls of the conference room, so Maggie set me to task transcribing some of the new interviews.

Sadly, her suspect in Utah was a bust, he lawyered up and his counsel submitted evidence from the trucker's ex-employer. It proved he was out of state working during the dates three of the four girls went missing. The fourth date, when the youngest girl Dana went missing, he was being held in a Utah county lockup working off a hangover.

Maggie was becoming dogged in her efforts, and the shadowy rings under her eyes growing darker every time I saw her. I had to wonder how much the pressure was affecting her. I rode along for a couple more interviews before bowing out. They were too intense and affecting me too much mentally. Maggie had to unload onto me emotionally after every interview too. I practically begged Heath to step in and the policeman actually smiled and told me he'd make sure Maggie could debrief properly. I think Heath was secretly pleased I couldn't hack it. He happily palmed off some of his simple admin work to me in trade.

It was the day before Rick's departure and a handful of days away from Christmas. I was back at the station finishing up with some loose ends before things wrapped up for the Christmas break. I had to escape the house earlier in the morning, Rick was tense about leaving, I was tense; we were beginning to snip at each other. Neither of us wanted to say goodbye to the other and I was still annoyed at the prospect of leaving my home for two whole weeks.

"That Phillip Blake is a weird one," she said. Maggie was dressed in full uniform, badge on display.

"Weird?" I asked, looking up from the pile of papers I was organizing. "Heath would probably agree with you, but I thought he was sweet."

Maggie dropped down onto the office chair opposite me.

"That's cause you're both from Georgia - of course, you like him. But he's so damn serious all the time. Like someone's died or he's just come from a funeral." Her eyes widened when I pulled a face. "Sorry. But it's true."

"Did you know he's worked for the parks service for nearly twenty years?" I said. "Do you even remember him?"

"That's the other thing. He's been here so long and it's like nobody has ever really got to know him. I've seen him here and there over the years. Remember that time he gave us a ride back to town when Jessica hosted that kegger at the lake? He broke up the party and then weirdly offered just the two of us a ride home before the police arrived."

"Of course," I gasped, the memory flooding back. "I completely forgot! I knew I'd met him somewhere."

"I'm not surprised you forgot. You were totally sloshed Chonne. You spent the whole time babbling on about Southern cooking and barely letting him get a word in edgewise."

I felt my cheeks burning. Teenage Michonne was no good at holding liquor.

"I wonder why he didn't mention it?"

"Cause he's a creep? Or, do you think…" Her voice trailed off. She tapped her palms with a sudden excitement against the table. "Maybe he didn't remind you because he knew you were assisting with the investigation, so he didn't want to raise any alarm bells."

I stopped fussing over the paperwork and watched as she grew animated, hands gesturing in wild circles as she spoke.

"He's been part of the community for decades now. A position of authority in the parks service. He keeps to himself. White male. He was in his twenties at the time, well, very early twenties, but he worked in the area. It all fits." She jumped to her feet and began pacing the length of the room.

"Maggie…" I cautioned.

"This is textbook stuff, Michonne. Serial killer profile 101. He picked up the two of us and drove us home that night. It shows he is out late driving the streets, is happy to collect innocent girls. And those girls all went missing in the evening. Quick – pass me that map."

"He didn't try anything weird or handsy when we were with him," I said, pushing the map of Blue Ridge Lake, both town, and lake, towards her. "And how accurate is that profiling stuff, really?"

"He's creepy. You can't honestly say he's not!" She focused on the map, grabbing a marker off the table and carefully marking dots on the map.

"He isn't creepy. He is quiet and reserved. That doesn't mean every quiet man is a creep. It wasn't like he was flirting with us."

"I'm not saying he's a murderer. But I'm not going to ignore this. He ticks too many boxes. Look." She pushed the map back towards me, her green eyes large with revelation. "Those are the places the girls were all last seen. Those points are all within a block or two of the main route you need to take through town when leaving the park to head out to the highway."

"Shit…" I breathed. She was right. "Still, this doesn't necessarily mean it's him."

"No, but it means I need to dig up everything I can on Mr. Phillip Blake."

"You know, I can't actually recall seeing anything about Bob questioning him."

I pulled the cardboard folio box that was closest to me. It was the file for Kathi Simpson. I lifted the lid off and stood to my feet, carefully working my way through the papers trying to find any mention of Bob interviewing the park rangers. Maggie did the same, bringing over the box marked Dana Logan and withdrawing a small black notebook filled with Bob's notes. She sat back down and started scrutinizing each page.

"You know the park keeps a record of visitors entering and leaving the park. You're required to sign in and have your park pass checked when you pass the station," Heath's voice drew our attention from our searching. He stood, leaning against the door jam, holding a cup of coffee. "The victims all disappeared during summer. Blue Ridge is at its busiest then."

"Don't tell me you're trying to defend Blake too," Maggie huffed.

"Just stating the obvious, Sheriff," Heath said with his characteristic coolness.

"If the park still has a record of people coming and going we can cross reference the visitors for the week of every disappearance. See if there's anything that stands out," I said.

Maggie closed the notebook with a commanding snap. "You beat me to it. I'll call Aaron and see what their record keeping skills are like."

She left the room and I picked up the black notebook she'd left behind. Heath filled Maggie's vacated seat and directed his efforts towards another folio box.

"Busy day?" I asked, hoping to break the ice yet again with the stony-faced cop.

"Mmhmm," he drawled, not looking up from his searching. I sighed and returned to the notebook. If this brick wall of a man couldn't play nice then I guess I'd have to settle for mutual silence.

The pages of Bob's notebook were thin and stiffly crinkled by the firmly pressed scrawl of his handwriting. The book was a random collection of notes and abbreviations, scribbles, illegible writings circled or underlined from his investigations in the months after Kathi Simpson's disappeared, once he'd finally started taking notice. There was no organization to his thinking process or note-taking. A lot of it seemed like a stream of consciousness dribble.

Two-thirds of the way through, I found a reference to the national park. An underlined NPS, the acronym for National Parks Service, followed by Dwight Austin': alibi, nothing suspicious seen. P. Blake: alibi, flit.'

Thomas Richards was the old park ranger supervisor. I strongly doubted he was still alive, he was old as dirt back when I was still a little girl. But the reference to Phillip's Alibi, I wondered what it meant? In my gut, I had a feeling he wasn't responsible. But maybe Maggie was right and I was simply biased. I saw him as a good Southern gentleman and so I was falsely discounting him as a suspect. I tagged the page with a sticky plastic page marker.

But Bob seemed satisfied with his alibi, which was encouraging. Sort-of. This was Bob, after all. Either way, I was sure Maggie would confirm it just fine on her own. Too bad Bob couldn't have had the gumption to actually record his conversations properly to save her the hassle. A thorough investigation from a sober sheriff twenty years ago could have solved this much sooner. Perhaps immediately. The outcome could have been so much different. If Kathi's disappearance was treated as suspicious from the outset then maybe she would be here today and the other girls would never have been taken. I pictured a cold dark basement with police busting in, rescuing the young girl shackled to a wall. I shivered.

"I wonder how long they were alive for after they were taken," I said, unable to focus on the book any longer.

"How long they were kept alive?" Heath said, not bothering to raise his head from the page.

I nodded, disturbed by the connotation the word 'kept' carried with it. Heath placed his finger on the page marking the spot he was reading and pinned me down by the strength of his stare.

"I wonder how many victims of kidnap are being held right now? At this moment. In this state. In this country." His dark features flashed with irritation, no doubt directed at me. "I wonder when they last saw sunlight? I wonder what they are thinking about right now? If they have a shred of hope or if they are so consumed with getting by moment-to-moment that they can't comprehend an existence other than the one they're living..?" I blinked back the tears that gathered in my eyes.

"No." He cut me off. "It's easy to get caught up in the what-ifs. But what a waste. It serves no one and nothing other than our own misplaced sense of compassion. If something needs to be done - do it. If someone needs help - help them. Don't waste precious mental energy on contemplating the fates of those far worse off than us. It helps no one. We find those girls and the bastard - or bastards - that did this then you will get you your chance to have all the answers you never really wanted." He looked back down to the page and continued reading as if we never spoke. I swallowed thickly and closed Bob's notebook. Damn, Heath really cut to the quick.

I stared at the walls, now clad with my organized timelines and information on each of the girls. What was I doing here? How was I equipped to help with this? The four blown up pictures of the girls seemed to mock me and my efforts.

"You've done good work, Michonne," Heath said, startling me from my pity party. It made me jump.

"You think?" I asked. "I don't know if I've done anything at all."

"Maggie has been more focused since you've been here. She was floundering before you arrived. She never flounders. She was doubting herself and now she isn't."

I nodded to him in thanks. I left the room and Heath to his own devices. Slipping quietly into Maggie's office, I settled onto the seat in front of her desk. She was still on the phone to Aaron, absorbed by something on her laptop screen. She grimaced strangely at me when she noticed my presence.

I focused on the framed pictures on the wall behind her while she finished up her conversation with Aaron. There were four wooden frames in total, hung side by side along the back wall. One was an image of her being sworn in as sheriff, another a picture of her in black tactical gear doing target practice – probably from her Academy days, then one of her in the white Taekwondo uniform with her hard earned black and gold embroidered belt tied tightly around her waist, and finally, one with all four deputies proudly surrounding Maggie standing out the front of the station. She hadn't even smiled that wide on her wedding day.

Maggie was full of strength and spirit. I am so lucky to count her as a friend. Blue Ridge was damn lucky that they had her to sort out the shit Bob Stockey left in his drunken wake. She would succeed where he, and the successors that were elected in the time between Bob and Maggie, had failed.

"Do they have the records?" I asked as soon as she placed the receiver slowly back into its cradle.

"Yes, he thinks so. They've been stored in the attic of the ranger station so he's going to have a look and get back to me." She cleared her throat and smoothed the slim black tie against her beige shirt.

"What? What's wrong?"

"Michonne, how much do you know about Rick?"

I blinked, thrown by her sudden change of subject.

"What do you mean? Is this about Phillip? Honestly, Maggie… I'm willing to concede my judgment of Phill might be a little biased due to some Atlanta-seasoned homesickness, but I don't think you need to worry about my judgment as far as it extends to Rick. You know, Bob seemed to think Phillip had an alibi for Kathi's disappearance." I lifted the notebook from my lap and waggled it.

"I'm not talking about Phillip, hon. I was asking how much Rick has shared about himself." Her expression was odd. She knew something.

I lowered my hands back slowly to my lap, a foreboding tingling taking residence at the base of my skull.

"Tell me what you know."

She turned the laptop so I could see. It was a picture of Rick, clean-shaven and dressed neatly in a black suit standing beside a lithe, attractive woman. She was dressed in a vintage ivory gown with a feather and lace birdcage-style fascinator pinned into her sleek and coiled brunette up-do. He was smiling at the camera and she was grinning like the cat who got the cream.

"Did he tell you he's married?" she asked softly.


	19. If This Is It

I shook my head slowly. No, he most certainly hadn't told me he was married. I couldn't drag my eyes away. It was a wedding portrait, taken outside on what looked to be the steps of New York City hall.

"Where did you find this?" I asked. It had taken me a few minutes to find my voice.

"Aaron told me to look him up. He wondered if you knew."

"Aaron?" I asked vaguely, scooching my seat closer. I turned the device so it better faced me. The picture was part of 2010 write up in the New York Times wedding section titled _Saying Yes to a New Chapter_.

'Successful Pearson Publishing editor, Andrea Harrison, marries best-selling British author, Richard Andrew Grimes, in sedate City Hall ceremony full of grace and style.'

"Maybe he's divorced?" Maggie asked, her tone appealing.

"Then why wouldn't he tell me he was divorced?" I gritted out, still reading.

I opened a new tab and searched both their names together. I got multiple hits from society pages. They'd been photographed at a handful of publishing and book-related events, although there was nothing that I could see over the last few years.

I hardly remembered packing up my things and leaving the station. Maggie swore up and down she would rough him up for me, although I knew it was the friend in her talking, not the sheriff. She encircled me in a big hug before I left in a daze.

I wandered down through to the main street, past my car, hugging my laptop bag to my chest. The town was as busy as it would get for this time of year, folk out and about readying themselves for Christmas celebrations. It all passed in a blur. Rick was probably at home waiting for me to return. We had been texting on and off all day. Our plans were to spend our last night at his place before he went home for Christmas.

It hit me like a freight train. He was going home to his wife.

That rat bastard, I am going to hang his ass out to dry. I pressed my foot on the gas, confidently taking the turns back along Little Blue Road. And then when his ass dried I was going to kick the hell out of it. The nerve of him! Making me the other woman!

I parked in the garage and let myself in through the kitchen door. Noah trotted over and snuffled his wet nose against my hand. I dumped my laptop bag and purse on the kitchen bench and wandered through into the living area. Rick was nowhere to be seen. I called out but received no answer.

Adrenaline and anger pounded through me like wild floodwaters. I flexed and released my hands and slumped down into my armchair.

I forced some large breaths, trying to slow that raging river inside of me. There was no use confronting him full of ire. I needed answers. If I confronted him now it would result in a yelling match.

Calm yourself, Michonne. Get your courtroom game face on. Don't let your emotional entanglement get in the way of reason and logic. Treat this like a case… A complex one that involves romance and copious amounts of amazing sex.

I felt the anger begin to ebb. I could be rational. I could approach this properly. I clenched my fists. My God, I just wanted to scream at him until I was hoarse. How dare he? I liked him so much, we seemed to click so well and all along he was really just an ass. A deep, twisty feeling dug itself into my chest; a screw into a wine cork. I felt myself emotions slipping.

Deep breath, Michonne. No tears. Focus.

I had to approach this like a case. Like I was preparing for court. Detaching myself emotionally and question my assumptions.

I was such an idiot! Argh. And I had known… I'd felt some deep intuition he was holding something back. Why didn't I trust my gut?

He had been keeping a huge secret – a huge part of himself – from me and that was unconscionable. It was… I struggled to identify the feelings inside me. Ashamed at my foolishness. Betrayed. Hurt. Heartbroken. No, stop. I scolded myself. I sniffed and wiped the tears from my cheeks onto the sleeve of my loose knit sweater.

I stared at the flames in the fireplace. It needed nearly half as much fuel as any regular open fireplace and pumped out ridiculous amounts of heat.

I missed Daryl more than I had in months. He was so black and white. He wasn't a deep thinker or a philosopher. I could barely recall a single deep conversation we'd ever shared. We talked about the day to day, about what people were doing and things that were happening in our lives. No politics, no debating of big issues or on the meaning of life. It was all surface stuff, but it was comfortable and familiar. I knew what to expect with him. It was so different to the late nights spent wrapped in Rick's arms talking about everything under the sun.

And Daryl was unashamed of who he was. What you saw was what you got. You could always count on him for that.

...Was I being unfair? Yes. I groaned inwardly. It was unfair to miss your dead spouse simply because another man had hurt you. It was unfair to compare a living man with a man who had died and was so easy to remember fondly, for that reason. Daryl had his flaws too. I sighed.

"Sorry Daryl," I said softly, hugging my knees to my chest.

"You're home already? I was in the woodshed splitting more logs." Rick said, letting himself in through the front door. He brushed his boots against the mat and sat down on the couch across from me to unlace them.

He glanced up and did a double take when he saw me. "What's wrong?"

I set my feet on the floor and sat up straight, clearing my throat.

"I have some questions to ask you and you are going to answer me truthfully. No BS."

He nodded slowly and set the second boot neatly next to where he took off the first one.

"Okay." He seemed confused rather than suspicious or defensive.

"Are you married?"

He froze still like a rabbit caught in the gaze of a predator.

"No. But I suppose you found out I once was."

The twisty feeling in my chest lessened by degrees. He wasn't an adulterer. He was a secret-keeping butthead.

"Were you single when you came to Blue Ridge?"

"Yes."

"When did you divorce?"

"We married in early October 2010 and divorced in March 2014."

That meant they'd been divorced for over three years now.

"Why didn't you tell me? When I…" My voice cracked. "When I told you everything about my past. I even asked you about past relationships and you said there'd been no one special for years. All the stories you've told me about your life and you never mentioned her once."

His gaze dropped and he raked a hand through his hair, seemingly steeling himself.

"It wasn't a conventional marriage."

"Elaborate." I folded my arms across my chest, hoping I appeared calm and collected rather than tear-stained and wounded.

"We weren't in a relationship. We weren't in love. She, Andrea, was an acquisitions editor for Pearson Books. She got The Witching Hour published and negotiated to get me on for the multi-book contract. Now she's clawed her way to the role of editorial director with one of Pearson's biggest imprints, Warren's Press.

"The marriage was her idea. A mutual back-scratch, she called it." He cleared his throat, shifting uncomfortably in his seat. "The publishing industry is cutthroat, and it's been in a state of upheaval with digital publishing and self-publishing becoming popular. No one knows which way is up anymore. Jobs are becoming streamlined, highly competitive and scarce. She was frustrated with her inability to climb the corporate ladder and wanted to be noticed and... I had just come off the back of another bestseller. I was making waves and she wanted to catch a ride. So, we married. I was dragged to every event imaginable, name-dropped with abandon, and I exhausted every contact to help her get noticed."

I frowned. "Why did you need to be married to help her with that?"

"We didn't," he sighed. "But I needed to be married if I wanted to stay in America."

My mouth opened wordlessly in surprise.

"I tried to get in on a work visa," he explained, lips twisting ruefully at my reaction. "But I was knocked back. Long story, but the publisher couldn't sponsor me and because my work could technically be done anywhere… It wasn't enough to qualify for a green card, especially so early in my career. And I like it, no I love it here. Living and working in America is exciting. I loved the pace of New York, hell the entire east coast and had been traveling back and forth from London on a tourist visa the entire time.

"I'd just been rejected for a green card - the one for people working in arts - and I'd had my heart set on a brownstone which had just be listed. Not getting the visa was a big blow for me. Andrea knew this. Used it to her advantage. She put an offer on the townhouse and came to me with her deal. We'd marry for three years, long enough for me to apply for citizenship, I would foot the deposit and mortgage and eventually, the deed would be put into just my name, though we'd live separate lives – in return I had to help her too."

My mind was reeling. Was he bribed into a green card marriage? Maybe not a bribe. He got something out of it too.

"Did you have any sort of romantic relationship?"

"We slept together twice after my first book published…" He sighed. "Yes, you don't need to give me that look. I heard it all from Karen, I know it was a terrible idea. Andrea had a thing for me for a long time and I... I didn't think the marriage had anything to do with that." He grimaced. "Apparently it was at least a little bit. It quickly went to shit. She was possessive, jealous and ended up moving into the spare room at my place, despite my protests. She was meant to live in her place. I could barely stand the sight of her. Still can't. Three years later we divorced. It means I now have permanent residency, but I have to wait a few more years before I qualify for citizenship."

"I don't get it. I don't get why you couldn't just tell me? I saw that feature on your wedding in The New York Times. I thought I was the other woman. God, I felt – feel – so foolish."

He moved himself to the end of the couch closest to where I was sitting and tried to take my hand. I slipped it from his grasp with a firm shake of my head. I needed facts, not to be emotionally implored.

"I was going to tell you when I got back from New York. I know I fucked up not telling you immediately. My feelings for you and knowing I was holding back… I like you Michonne. I really like you. But you are pretty terrifying."

He held up his hand to cut off my incoming retort.

"You are bold and strong. You view the world through the lens of what's right and wrong, and you hold yourself and everyone around you to those standards. It's hard to stand next to you, be viewed with that kind of scrutiny when I know I'm not completely deserving of it. I should have told you straight away in the beginning; ripped the band-aid off. But I'm a coward when it all boils down."

He looked ashamed, shoulders slumped.

"You can't know I would've thought less of you…" I said, my anger finally deflating.

"Michonne, the law is your business. Your best friend is the Sheriff. You are a widow. The way you speak of marriage, yours and your grandparents, I know you value the institution. What I did was illegal. I defrauded the government in order to gain citizenship. I realize not everyone marries for love, but that is the only allowable reason for marriage if you want to immigrate to the US. You can't say that wouldn't have affected your opinion of me."

"So, you tell me in order to manipulate my feelings for you? So that I would like you better?"

"No, that's not it. When I first met you, I knew I liked you, but I didn't realize what the depth of my feelings would be." He studied his clasped hands as he spoke. "You're a curveball, Michonne. You socked me when I wasn't expecting it. I thought maybe I could win you over and we'd have a brief fling. Then you kissed me and I realized a fling wouldn't cut it. Not with you. I'd take everything and anything you'd be willing to give and still want more. I was trying to find the right time to explain, hoping it would mean nothing but knowing it could change everything."

He looked up at me and I swallowed hard. He was right. I wasn't sure I was ready to hear this.

"When I get back to New York I'm meeting with Andrea's lawyer to finish up with the house. She's been dragging this shit out. She had promised to transfer the deed into my name when we married, instead she put it in both our names and has been refusing to give it up to me. I've let sleeping dogs lie after the divorce, but now… I'm done with it. She can have the fucking house. I'll manage even with any equity I lose in signing over my half. The plan was to finalize with Andrea and her horseshit for good, then come back and tell you. Regardless of what that would mean for us."

We stared at each other, a long minute passing as he looked more and more doleful with every moment. He was waiting for a response.

"I'm going to Maggie's tonight. And honestly? I don't know what to think, Rick. Please don't contact me until you're back in town."

I stood and went upstairs to grab my bags and finish with the last of my packing. Rick was wise enough not to follow. I waited until I heard the front door clunk shut before I laid down on the bed.

I stared at the timber beam above my bed. I wasn't confused anymore. I was angry and frustrated that he'd kept something from me. I was also frustrated that he was right. If he had told me before we kissed I don't think I would have given him proper a chance. Given my heart a chance. And he was in there, alright, stuck right in there deep.


	20. Someone Tell Me Why

Do you want me to call him an asshole?"

"Yes."

"Well, then he's an asshole," Maggie said it as she clinked her glass tumbler against mine.

She'd been surprised to see me show up on her doorstep, one day early and with my bottle of emergency vodka in hand. We were sitting on the cream-colored, Darby Wool shag rug in her living room with the bottle of Grey Goose Vodka, Triple Sec, lemon juice, sugar cubes, a bowl of lemon wedges, and a tin of half-eaten Topsy's butter popcorn.

The sun had set some time earlier and neither of us had bothered turning on the main lights. The flashing of the multicolored Christmas lighting strung up across the fireplace and tree gave the room a cozy and festive mood. Noah had claimed the couch since our arrival and was content sleeping the evening away. Rick must have taken him on a long walk while I was at the station.

"Do you want to know what I really think, though?" Maggie asked.

"Nope," I said with a pop. "I rather keeping drinking and bitching about how all men are assholes."

"You can say that again," she agreed with a snort, "Glen keeps ridiculous long hours, twice as long as me, we are like passing ships at sea. When we are together, he doesn't have much energy to do anything and to top that off he has a gross picture collection." She held her cell up and showed me an enlarged picture of a severely burned and bloodied hand, surrounded by surgical tools. "He likes to show them to me at dinner."

"That's just wrong." I covered my eyes, and we began giggling all over again.

"Seriously, Michonne," Maggie said pointedly. "I think Rick's an idiot, but I don't think he's an asshole."

I rolled my eyes and gave no response. She's supposed to be agreeing with me here.

"He's helped you, hasn't he? Stayed with you despite legitimately freaky fucking things happening at your house?"

"Yes…"

"Hasn't asked for anything in return?"

"No."

"He's admitted he has feelings for you."

"Well, yes, but that doesn't detract from what he did, or didn't do, rather."

"And what did you call the sex before?"

"Mind blowing." I pulled out the lemon wedge from my glass and sucked on it.

"Damn, remind me to ask you more about that later. He's also fucking hot."

"Tell me about it," I said, a little regretfully. "Being with him sometimes feels like punching above my weight."

"Oh, please. Don't bother selling yourself short, you have an amazing rack and an ass that won't quit."

"Sure, just gloss right over my sharp intellect, great wit, and skills why don't you?"

"Alright, alright. Those things too. I just think you need to remember you both met under freaky circumstances. You skipped all the normal relationship, get-to-know-you stuff. You gotta expect there might be hiccups."

"Some hiccup."

"So what... he married someone – years ago, mind you – for slightly less than honorable reasons. Big deal. Sounds like that bitch made him suffer enough."

I grimaced throwing back the rest of my drink with one mouthful. I had definitely crossed the line from tipsy into the drunk territory.

"It's not that."

"Really?" Maggie tilted her head doubtfully, her sandy brows rising.

"Yes, really. I hate being left in the dark and I _hate_ being blindsided. I don't care about the marriage. At least I don't think I care…" I sighed. "I guess, he's right. Maybe I would have judged him in the early days if he'd told me. I had a pretty poor opinion of him when we first met, after all. But the core of the issue is that he didn't tell me at all and instead I had to find out through my best friend – the town Sheriff, no less."

Maggie refilled my glass as I spoke and handed it back to me. I smiled in thanks and continued, "I walked in there expecting him to confess that he was running out on his wife with me. Turns out he thinks I'm too high-strung and judgmental to hear the truth - which wasn't nearly as bad as an affair! I just fixated on the fact he was deliberately hiding stuff from me and told him where to go." I groaned in frustration, staring into my glass. "God, I'm such a mess. My head is a mess."

"Alright, then give yourself some time to cool off; give him some time to really feel like a fool for not saying something sooner and then when he gets back you two can fuck and make up."

I laughed at her vulgar choice of words and pulled my phone from my purse as I felt it vibrate. The notification light flashed brightly.

"Oh, no you don't." She swiped it from my hand. "You're one too many gins past being safe to handle that thing." She unlocked it and read the message. "He said he left your Christmas present under the tree and he slid his house key under your front door."

"Fucker! Was that it then? He was giving up, giving back my key? See you later, Michonne, it was fun while it lasted?"

Maggie rolled her eyes. "It also says he'll miss you and is here for you if you need anything."

Every morning over the next three days, I found myself waking up to an empty house, Maggie leaving early to make the hour drive to work. I'd taken to cleaning the house for her, but there was little to do. and I was surprised to find she seemed to take after me when it came to keeping everything neat and clean. She and Glen seemed to be thrilled to have me as a temporary guest.

Her intensity was wearing though, and so I was pleased to have the day to myself, spending my evenings with Maggie was taking it out of me. Somehow that girl was an energizer bunny, even after spending a full day working. The last two nights, she'd dragged me to a local gym in downtown Roanoke for a body destroying high-intensity interval class that was a mix of cardio and weights.

I could barely move from lying to sitting when I woke up the third day.

It was a clear morning as I made the drive up to my cabin and I'd just got done fielding an awkward phone call from Maggie. I tried my hardest to be evasive, telling her he was definitely divorced and there were still some property disputes with him and his ex, but I knew she knew there was more to it than that. It was the most I was willing to tell, honestly. His permanent residency could still be revoked. Rick might see me as morally black and white but as far as I was concerned the legitimacy of his marriage was none of my business.

I pushed all Rick related thoughts into a lockbox and stuffed them into a dark corner of my mind. He would be back soon enough and I just wanted to get on with things, rather than moon over our issues.

Shit… Easier said than done. I tried to keep myself busy those first few days he was gone, I even had another therapy appointment, where the topic consisted mostly of past and current relationships. Trying not to think about Rick was like trying not to cough while coping with the world's worst tickle in your throat. It was inevitable.

Aaron was already waiting for me when I arrived at the cabin. He was sitting in his work SUV and hopped out to greet me, a duffel bag in hand. He was looking clean and pressed, his wavy hair tamed, not a strand out of place. I let him into the cabin and turned the ducted heating on full blast while I brewed us a fresh pot of coffee. Noah trotted around the house happily reacquainting himself with all his favorite scents.

"You've been away?" he asked, as he set up a small external mic as well as a digital camera onto a tripod beside my dining table.

"Just staying with Maggie in town," I said, setting down Gram's ornate silver serving tray on the dining table. Aaron smiled at it appreciatively which pleased me to no end. I poured us a cup each, apologizing for the lack of creamer due to having emptied my fridge days earlier, but he waved a hand dismissively.

"That's quite alright. I'm not fussed as long as there is sugar. Although given the present delightful company, I'm sure it will be sweet enough as it is."

I laughed sweetly. Nothing like a nicely put compliment to raise a girl's self-esteem. So maybe he did have a little thing for me, but it felt innocent.

Maggie had told me on the phone that morning that from the park records she and Aaron had recovered that there was no obvious connection between visitors in and out of the park the week of each of the disappearances, although that didn't mean much, really.

Carloads of people came and went throughout the day during summer and many had surely slipped through without signing in, she told me, and those who did sign the register often didn't list the full party they were traveling with. To make it even trickier, in summer many of the visiting people were coming and going every day bloating the sign-in books with repeated signatures. It was a frustrating load of information, like looking for a needle in a haystack that you weren't even sure was there. Maggie did simplistically point out that Phillip had been working on each of the days that the girls went missing.

Aaron took his role as park historian seriously. He spent many minutes carefully positioning me so the camera would catch a view of the lake from behind my shoulder. He began the recording by stating who, what, when and where he was interviewing and then, using a binder to prompt and guide the conversation, he asked me in carefully worded questions about my childhood at Blue Ridge, as well as my family's continued history with the area. He remained silent while I thought over my answers and responded. I had two albums of photographs, one filled with photos from my childhood vacations spent on the lake and another Gram had collected from her summers at the cabin before and after Mom and Aunt Michelle was born. Aaron flicked through the albums as I spoke, asking about certain pictures and jotting down a list of pictures he'd like me to scan and email him.

I shared some memories of Fourth of July celebrations which were always a big deal. A large bonfire on the lake shore and cookouts. I told him of the time Morgan and I had camped down near shore when I was 9 and he was 12. We'd spent the night terrified, listening as something sniffed its way around camp. We were sure it was a roaming black bear, they weren't uncommon in the region, so when Morgan finally got the guts to stick his head out of the tent, armed with only his BB rifle, his laughter was enough to scare off the startled baby mule deer, who took off with a cry toward its mother.

The whole experience took over two hours, with me recounting multiple different narratives. It was fun reliving the past. I'd been blessed with a happy childhood at Blue Ridge, even amongst the traumas I experienced growing up.

"I'm visiting Maggie this afternoon at the station for questioning regarding the missing girls," Aaron shared when I asked him about his plans for the rest of the day. "As you are well aware, the Sheriff is questioning many people who were in Blue Ridge during that time period." He didn't look up as he spoke, carefully stowing away the equipment back into their corresponding bags and cases. I'd known of course that Maggie had arranged to question him that afternoon but I didn't indicate that.

"Do you remember much about that time?"

His hand stilled from its task of zipping up his duffel bag.

"Their disappearances deeply affected the community. That mark is still felt here today." He cleared his throat and looked up. "I believe Sheriff Stokey to be negligent in his initial apathetic approach."

"Maggie suspects there is some connection between the girls and the park." I was steering into dangerous territory… Overstepping my mark. Maggie would blister my hide if she knew what I was doing.

"She may very well be right."

I searched his face for clues, all I saw was a careful mask of grim concession.

"Do you remember anything or anyone suspicious of those particular summers?"

"That is difficult to answer. Once you begin questioning people's motives and behavior suddenly everything they do appears suspicious." His usual calm blue eyes and placid expression left me feeling unexpectedly chilled.

I washed the mugs after Aaron left, eyeing the tree line warily. I was very aware of the fact I was home alone for the first time in weeks.

I sat in a patch of sunlight by the living room window next to the Christmas tree. The weekend earlier, I picked the small tree on the eastern side of my property and Rick had chopped it down. I'd hung some old family ornaments I'd brought over from Atlanta, there weren't many but just enough to cover the small pine. Underneath, as Rick had promised, sat a square brown paper package. I moved it to my lap, sliding my thumb under the taped folds. I had a feeling I knew what it was.

Sorry Santa, this girl was impatient.

It was a stack of vintage records, The Rolling Stones, Queen, The Who, Led Zeppelin, and Pink Floyd. I bet Rick had it sent over from his own personal collection. He knew I had a thing for classic rock but was fairly limited in my tastes and wanted to expand my collection. Bastard. I loved it. I turned them over carefully in turn, admiring the cover art and the love and wear that time had left behind on the cardboard cases.

A small paper bag stamped with Horvath's insignia sat beside where he left the records.

I lifted the baggie gingerly and peeked inside to see a jewelry box. I opened the case before I could psych myself out and hide it away indefinitely. I sighed softly. A necklace. The light caught in the balmy moonstone making it gleam. It was set in a sweetly ornate Edwardian-style drop pendant on a delicate silver chain. I'd admired it with Ruth that first day I visited the store. If I remembered right, Dale had said it was art nouveau, made around 1910. A gorgeous statement piece that would be pretty yet unassuming under a nice blouse or impressive with an evening dress.

Double Bastard.

I drove back to Roanoke, leaving the records behind but stowing the jewelry case in my purse. I wanted to show Maggie and possibly admire it a little more. At this stage, I'd be giving the gifts back. It didn't feel right accepting anything from him under the current circumstances, at least not until we could talk things out properly face to face. I still had Rick's present to give him too, a handmade lap desk I'd commissioned from Rovia. It was very Victorian in design; simple clean lines, a clever folding mechanism, and featured a hidden compartment. Made from local pine, too. I'd placed it under the tree when I got in that morning, but I had been planning on giving it to him that last night he was here... Instead, everything had gone to crap.

Christmas was only two days away now, so after dropping Noah at Maggie's, I spent time at the large supermarket in Roanoke picking out items I'd need for Christmas lunch.


	21. Know Your Enemy

I spend more time reading the labels than walking - isn't that modern shopping for you? Ingredients lists are worse than those instructions for experiments in science class, every word as long and complicated as possible. It's that or buys only single ingredients - rice, wheat, beans, fruits, vegetables and eggs...

"Michonne…Hi," A familiar voice called out to me as I turned my shopping cart down the cereal aisles. It was Mara, the perky, early-20s brunette from Maine who is working here for the winter and hanging with Ruth and her group.

"Hi, Mara." I managed a smile, the look on her face was full of concern, that made me uncomfortable, albeit, just slightly, but still, totally unexpected.

"I would have called you, but Ruth wouldn't give me your number."

"Call me... About what?"

"I've had a thought," Mara said, slinging her custom, reusable shopping bag over her shoulder, "Well, more like a few thoughts culminating into a theory."

"Umm, okay," I replied, unsure if I really want to hear what she had to say considering our last conversation. I think she could sense my unease, she lowered her head in embarrassment, "Hey, let's finish shopping and meet at the café next door." I suggested, it was the polite thing to do, besides, I certainly did not want to make her feel foolish for trying to help me.

"Cool, see you soon," my suggestion cheered her right up and she grabbed a box of granola bars off the shelf, before taking off down the aisle.

I found the oatmeal I was looking for and did the same, paid for my groceries and placed the bags into the truck. My truck happened to be parked in visual distance of the café and there she was, clear as day chatting with one of the baristas. She waved at me as I made my way through the parking lot into the entrance, "I saw the eggs, creamer and other perishables in the car so I won't keep you very long." She assured me, still sensing my unease.

"It's a very chilly day, I am sure the eggs will keep for a while." I smiled brightly and she returned the gesture while sipping her tea.

"In that case would you like anything? They have a great cinnamon spice tea."

"Yes, that sounds good, although, I really love their hot apple cider."

She placed my order with the barista for me and took a glance around the half-empty café room before she began.

"I think Eurynome or Eurynomos, or whatever you want to call him, doesn't want to hurt you or kill you."

"You think he's interested in being friends or maybe, what? Looking for a hookup?" I chuckled nervously. She did not mimic the gesture this time, her expression was serious, way too serious for someone as young as she.

"You told us the day when we did the banishments that the old lady said death follows you and you follow death. Well… What if, it's because you are the mortal link between death and the living world? It sought you out because it knew it could communicate with you. You're like a figurative bridge between life at death."

I frowned. I didn't like the idea of that.

"Ruth told me you're working on the investigations for those missing girls… and, well, she said you've experienced a lot of loss in your life." She stirred her tea nervously, I realize now why Ruth didn't want her calling me.

"Are you saying that people died because of me? My husband died because of me? Because of some freaky connection with death?" I sat up straight, bracing myself for her response.

"That's not what I'm saying."

"It sure sounds like it."

"No, please don't take offense, that's not the point I'm trying to make. Of course, you don't influence death or cause anything like that. I'm just showing how you have an established experience, and yes, maybe a connection with the death."

"I am not offended, but you really have no facts to support this claim."

"Just humor me for a sec, will you?"

"Alright…" I sighed in a noisy and put-upon way, staring across at the TV where Miracle on 34th Street is airing. "Let's say it's following me because I am this bridge. Then why has it taken this long in my life for crazy shit to start invading it?"

"Because nothing of this nature has had a reason to before now. Eurynomos or Euromome is trying to communicate with you. Now."

"What?" I scoffed. "And say what?"

Mara pulled out her phone and opened the picture gallery, flipping through the images quickly. She leaned over and showed me one on her screen.

"I took a picture of its listing in Ruth's grimoire." She zoomed in on the page. "Read through the description again. The script is old but not that hard to make out. Tell me what you think, maybe you'll have the same conclusion as me."

I took the phone from her hand and looked over the page. I tried my hardest to ignore the sneering hand-drawn illustration of the beast.

 _The Death Dealers_

 _Eurynomos. The Watcher. Keeper of the damned. Dark Prince of the high decree travails the realms by many names._

 _Eurynome. The Empress of the Maenads. The receiver is a cursed beast thus walketh the singular realm, consuming the flesh of the vexed, the cursed, the betrayed._

 _Jubilees. The Beacon whispers of a second mouth, in dark stead, guards those long departed. The Beacon ushers many forms in the solitary realm._

I read it once. Read it through again. My mind churned over the words, and my unfocused gaze moved from the phone to the twinkling lights of the mini Christmas tree. I knew what conclusion Mara had come to, yet it seemed too farfetched to entertain.

"Well?" Mara breathed, practically bouncing with excitement. "If it was trying to communicate to you, a conduit between the living and dead, what do you think it's trying to tell you?"

Leading a horse to water, Mara was trying to make me take a sip. Walking me right to a precipice, coaxing me to step off; to step off to a place where the inconceivable met the unsolvable.

"It hasn't told me anything, but it's been trying to get my attention. It wants me to know something." I swallowed, forcing myself to continue. "But for some reason, it can't or won't physically tell me, so it wants to show me...?"

"Yes! It hangs around not because it wants to eat you or kill you. It feeds only on what's already dead."

Really? I wasn't so sure about that. That day it grabbed my ankle sure felt like it was trying to kill me or hurt me. But then again… didn't Dolores say it wanted to use me?

"It's the keeper of the dead," I said, the words feeling thick and hard for my mouth to get around.

"So…?"

"So, it wants to show me the dead - or graves."

"The girls," Mara whispered, the flashing Christmas lights forming a red and golden halo around her wavy bob. Was that it? Was that what it was trying to do? Was it the key to solving this awful mystery?

"What? Why me? Why does it even care?"

Mara shrugged taking a sip of her drink. "I dunno, I think it's simply drawn to you, I just can't figure out why."

"Okay, well that's stupid."

"Maybe. Or maybe it's beyond us to question the motivations of death."

We stared at one another for the longest time, my brain churning Mara's theory over and over until I began feeling sick and dizzy.

"What should I do? Should I approach it?"

"Hell no!" Mara exclaimed. "I'll contact Jenny, she's my coven leader back home - the one I told you about. Maybe she'll know of some way, a safe way to communicate with it."

"'Maybe' doesn't sound very hopeful to me. What if approaching it is the only way?"

"We'll cross that bridge if it comes to that, in the meantime, what do you think about visiting Dolores at Sunny View..."


	22. Your Enemy Knows

I certainly didn't want to speak to Dolores again, her words had a way of haunting me, following me like that creature. Still, there was no denying the power in them.

"Why would you want to visit Dolores?" I asked with curiosity bubbling over.

"I want to know what she sees in you, maybe that will help us figure out what The Death Dealer or Dealers want to show you or what they want to use you for."

"Do you think she really knows anything, she seems a little…well, not all there..."

"I believe Miss Dolores Sandoval is a seer," she nodded knowingly at me, "I did a little research and found out Dolores was born in Maine and once part of a Coven."

"A seer, what's that?"

"An individual who has the mind's eye to see things beyond this realm."

"OH...kay," I replied slowly, nodding my head just as slow, "We'll need to take separate cars, I don't plan on staying long." I agreed to go with that condition. I had a feeling Mara would entertain Dolores a lot longer than I planned too, so if that happens I want to be sure to have an easy escape.

We signed in at the front desk both of us holding a tin bucket of the Famous Figi Christmas sugar cookies in our arms, one for the staff, the other for Dolores. One of the nurses escorted us down the hallway to the first corridor. We took a few steps in and glanced around the TV room where the receptionist said I would find her. There was a man standing, peering out the foggy window waving excitedly at someone outside. After a moment, he grabbed his walker and left the room as fast as he could go, which was not very fast at all. Dolores was sitting in the faux leather recliner, open magazine resting in her lap and looking up at the television. She had a cup of tea beside her, steam curling up from the mug. Her expression was equal parts amused and surprised as she noticed me.

"Michonne with her light! A beacon in the night!" She snorted and shifted in her seat to better face me.

"Hello Dolores, we brought you some cookies." I gestured to my left, "This is Mara, she and I wanted to speak with you if that's okay."

She shrugged, it was a jerky movement. "I like cookies, will you open them for me, my hands aren't so steady."

"Of course," I removed the plastic seal from around the tin bucket and pulled the top off, taking in the smell of butter, cinnamon, and sugar as I removed the round wax paper sheet from the top. I placed the bucket on her lap and she smiled appreciatively at me and dug in.

"Your enemy knows." She mumbled, then took a hearty bite into her green frosted sugar cookie that is shaped like a Christmas tree.

"What did you say? " Mara asked, quickly grabbed a wooden chair pulling it in front of Dolores, she was sitting so close they were practically knee to knee.

I remained standing.

Dolores just smiled, kept chewing, she reached with unsteady hands, picked up her tea mug and sipped leisurely. Mara, on the other hand, was at the edge of her seat.

"Death needs light," Dolores said taking another bite of cookie, the crumbs rolling down her from her lips to chin, resting on knitted red and green sweater dress.

"Why does it need Michonne?" Mara asked.

"Because it hides, no one can see it without the light and your enemy knows." Dolores giggled and clapped her hands, "Oh goody, here comes the music!" she smiled and finished off her cookie.

Mara was doing something on her phone, I began tapping my foot impatiently, waiting for Mara to ask another question and receive an answer from Dolores that makes no sense. But none of that happened, instead, the moment passed and I heard the approaching sounds of voices and footsteps. Several staff members walking and wheeling elderly residents into the room. One nurse grabbed the remote and turned off the television, she smiled at Mara and me. "Thanks for the cookies," she said.

I nodded, taking that as a cue to stay and listen to old Christmas carols or go about our merry way. Mara stood from her seat and we passed the quintet of Carolers' dressed in traditional Victorian style clothes file into the room.

Mara and I exchanged phone numbers in the foyer before heading out into the coldness of the night.

"Thanks for trying Mara, I appreciate your help, but I could have told you we're wasting our time," I said while opening the door to the truck, she stood adjacent to me, standing next to her sedan.

"Are you kidding me?" She smiled and clicked the button on her car remote. "Dolores is a level one clairvoyant. Did you notice she knew beforehand that the Carolers were here? We didn't hear anything until a whole minute later, and she had that cup of tea waiting as if she knew cookies and a conversation was on the way."

"You really think so..." I certainly didn't; I'm sure a member of staff told Dolores about the Carolers or she happens to be one of the lucky few to have better hearing than women half her age. And she simply enjoys a cup of tea, no snacks or conversation needed.

"Yeah and I'm certain, I can get to the bottom of this. I need to call Jenny and let her listen to my recordings."

I stepped back in shock, "You recorded your conversation with her."

"Well yeah, you hear how she speaks, like a puzzle… I need to put it together."

"Mara, you can't record people without their consent, it's against the law."

Her cheeks turned ruddy red, "I won't do it again." She mumbled utterly embarrassed.

Regardless of her not so ethical approach, I appreciate her. "I trust that you won't... hey, thanks again for your help, please keep me posted."

"Sure thing, I'll call you soon."

Despite all that, Christmas holiday was an unexpected joy. The next few days passed in a subdued blur.

I paid Morgan, Carol, and the kids a visit on Christmas Eve; handsome Duane and lovely Sofia are growing so fast. Morgan and Carol are as happy as ever and the gift exchange was a success. Everyone loved their gifts and I went away with a wonderful designer fleece blanket and one of Carol's beautiful handmade quilt.

Christmas Dinner with the Green's was a delight. Mrs. Green makes the best homemade eggnog. It's simply unreal, tasting just like melted ice-cream with the pleasant after-burn of bourbon. Just enough alcohol to bring on an enjoyable buzz from the first mug. She had no problem letting me take some home but it took some begging to get her to share the secret recipe.

Christmas night, I tossed and turned all night. I sighed, rolling over in bed for the umpteenth time. Truth be told, I missed Rick. My mind was a conflicted mess. I reached to my nightstand and picked up my phone. I stared at the screen, thumbs hovering, poised and ready. Time passed - too much time maybe - before I finally began typing.

 _Rick, are you awake?_

I wanted to hear his voice, that accent. His throaty chuckle. I wanted to tell him I missed him. I wanted him next to me now. I wanted him. Eventually, I drifted off into a light sleep still waiting for a reply. No surprises there, Rick slept like the dead.

The dim, pale blue of pre-dawn found me on my side in bed, staring at the digital alarm clock. I listened as Maggie moved quietly through the house, showering, dressing and preparing her breakfast. I waited until I heard her shut the front door behind her and I cast off my blankets.

I swung my feet out of bed and showered, taking care to shave my legs until they were buttery smooth and then washed my hair a second time. I dressed and ate breakfast, feeding Noah at the same time. I stood at the sink, staring unfocused out the small kitchen window as I washed my mug and plate. I was moving methodically. Mechanically. My mind was elsewhere.

I packed my things for the day and scrawled a note for Maggie, leaving it propped against the fruit bowl. The sun was steadily rising, casting beams of light over the mountain range surrounding Blue Ridge. I drove straight through the community called Red Ridge and then onward up the winding road towards my cabin. I was sure Noah, from his seat in the back, knew exactly where we were going, his tail steadily thumping like a bass drum urging me on.

There had been more snow since I've last visited, the driveway thick and covered. It would be a pain in the ass to shovel, but I could leave it for now at least. Maybe in the New Year, I'd hire the local guy to come up with his plow. The New Year. It was close. A whole new year of days and decisions to contend with. Decisions like… If my otherworldly visitor was planning on sticking around indefinitely, would I be game enough to continue living here on my own? I'd felt so certain I would never leave the cabin. But Rick had softened my resolve. Or maybe manipulated was the right term.

I wasn't sure where we stood now, but I couldn't rely on him to stay with me forever. After his reveal and the hissy-fit, I pitched there might not even be a 'him and me' to think about. I might have tanked it prematurely. And even if there was an 'us', he'd be back to New York once his book was done and dusted. I needed to rely on myself. At the end of the day, it was just me. It was always just me. Hadn't life taught me that, time and time again? I think that's what God had always intended. And I would make the best of that.

Noah lifted his nose as we pulled up out front. Okay, maybe I wasn't exactly alone, I mused with a smile, looking at his reflection in the mirror. Noah laid his head on my lap, still exhausted from the long jog I took this morning through a frosty trail in the woods that bordered the edge of town. I scratched his head idly, feeling completely at ease for the first time all week.

I let myself into my cabin through the front door. The aroma of fresh paint and renovation was now nearly imperceptible and the house was beginning to smell musty with disuse. It was the smell of nostalgia. As a child, I would breathe in great lungsful of it – the fragrance that marked our arrival and the start of a new vacation season at the cabin. Gram would complain about it, opening the windows wide and leaving the doors open, trying to chase it away. I understood why now. It was a stale, stagnant smell. One devoid of life.

I dressed quickly upstairs. Long johns, light water-resistant hiking pants, two pairs of woolen socks, two long sleeve shirts and t-shirt. Gram's gold crucifix pendant, on a golden chain that went around my neck. I figured I'd want my faith and Gram, the pure epitome of strength, with me. Lastly, I zipped up my favorite royal blue colored soft-shell jacket. Thin layers were the trick to hiking in the snow. If you got too warm you could take off just enough to keep at a comfortable temperature without risking getting cold.

I filled my backpack with supplies. A small first aid kit, trail mix, a gallon of water, a thermos of tea, apples, enough for two decent meals on the go, extra dry clothes, a warm scarf, my gloves, and finally Noah's long leash. As a last thought, I included a small tub of Vaseline in case I needed to coat Noah's paws as a protective barrier from the cold. I didn't know how far I'd go. I tied two wide snow-shoes to my pack and hoisted it on my back. Good, not too heavy.

With the Beretta cocked and a soft prayer on my lips, Noah and I exited through the living room sliding door onto the deck. I shut it behind me but left it unlocked, that way I wouldn't need to fumble with keys if I was in a hurry to get back in.

Lord help me, please don't let that be an idea I'd have to put to good use.

Noah was thrilled to be back on home turf, sprinting around outside excitedly, his nose low to the ground taking in all the new scents that had arrived with extra snow and a few days absence.

I walked to the stone placed at the northern cardinal point. It was right on the boundary of where salt had been sprinkled. The wind was whipping, strong gusts of icy chill wailing through the pines. Mother Nature's organ putting on a performance. My neck prickled.

"Alright!" I shouted, my voice carrying in the wind. "I know you're out there somewhere! I'm here, and I invite you to my property. Show yourself! Show me what it is you've been trying to tell me!"

There was no response, save a distant squawk of birds somewhere in the distance. Ravens or crows, maybe. I turned my focus to my breathing, trying to calm myself, trying to be patient.

The distinctive clicking of Noah's paws on glass sounded from behind me and I turned. He was back at the sliding door, pawing to get back inside, his tail hanging low.

I jogged up to the deck and crouched in front of him and he let out a small whine.

"You really gonna be a punk?" Of course, he was. This was the dog who cowered when other dogs a third of his size would bark in the general direction. I could hardly blame him for not wanting to stick around.

I slid the door open and he zipped indoors. I flicked on the electric heating, refilling his food and water bowl. I grabbed some of my older towels from the linen closet and laid them flat on the floor in the kitchen, hoping he'd choose to use that rather than soiling one of the area rugs. I was praying I wouldn't be gone long enough for it to even be an issue.

I shut the sliding door quietly behind me, Noah happily settling down beside the panel heater on the living room wall. As I stepped back outside I was assailed by the awful and familiar smell of rot. I bit back a gag, moving to the center of my yard. The breeze whipped around me, bringing no relief from the smell. It was everywhere.

"Where are you?" I shouted. My heart hammered. This was a batshit crazy idea. I stared into the trees willing something to emerge. But there was nothing. Shrubs, trees, snow. This was one hell of a band-aid, but if it knew where one of the girls were, or even all of them… And better to do this on my own. It only ever approached when I was alone. It needed me. No one else. Not me and a party of others to protect me. It was just me. I had to do this on my own. Death had followed me, and now it was my turn to follow death.

There was no response to my yell, just the whistle, and the creak of the old pines against the wind and the squawk of ravens flying somewhere above the woods. From my higher vantage on the sloping hill, I could see the birds. They were a mile or so deep into the forest, three of them, circling above the treetops. I watched them quietly. It was a sure sign something was near to dying, or a carcass was being picked over by other critters. It was something Grampa taught Morgan and me when we were out hunting. Well, if something dead or dying wasn't a sign then I sure as heck didn't know what was.

I adjusted my pack on my shoulders and walked towards the birds, rifle gripped tightly in my hands. It was now or never. I had a million reservations. A million doubts. There was no proof to back up Mara's theory. It was conjecture. The best guess. She was connecting together pieces of what could be two entirely different puzzles. But still… It made sense. A solid feeling from deep inside my gut told me there was truth to her idea. A deep bolt of intuition that ran through the core of me and wouldn't let me relax or let the idea go. Dolores words, so unimaginable at the time, were my mantra – the words I used to force my feet forward. Death, your enemy, the dark prince had latched onto me and he wouldn't let go until I've done what he needs. There was no way around it. I shoved them all into a tiny box deep inside my mind, focusing only on what I knew I should do.

Once I breached the tree line the smell only got worse. The snow was proving easier to walk on that I expected. It had been a cold night, the white groundcover hard and crunchy underfoot. I hummed an old gospel tune under my breath as I made my way carefully through the pines, drawing closer to where I could still hear the ravens calling.

The song died on my lips as I rounded a giant pine. My breath caught, snagging as my throat constricted. My feet stuck still to the frozen ground. There is was.

The beast of nightmares.


	23. The Beacon and The Dark Prince

As if the sunshine refused to reflect off its form and instead absorbed itself into every mote of its body. Across its hulking shoulders sat a fur cloak, a brilliant red of a fox skin. He was hunched, his large hulking shoulders drooping low and leading into abnormally long, brawny arms and claw-like hands. The beast blinked at me, its black eyes, beady and slanted, watching me. There was no aggression, it was simply looking. I stared back at it.

It bared its teeth at me; they were big, discolored, with blackened cracks marring the surface of many. Its pink forked tongue darted between its lips and it hissed, a foul smell emanating from within, some sickening mix of roadkill in the sun and burning sulfur.

Fine white mists of powdery snow swirled and moved around our ankles, brought on by the blustery wind coming down the hill. A rushing stream of vapor, the white swirled in stark contrast around the black of his ankles. I wanted to run. I wanted to turn and flee like the scared little girl wailing inside of me was desperately pleading me to do. I heard the whimper form on my lips but I cut it off before I could indulge that panic-stricken part of me. My mouth clamped shut. Something stopped me.

I felt the knowledge settle like a deep weight in my belly. I couldn't avoid this inevitability. There was something right about this, in a morbid, sickening way. And as Dolores said, I was intimate with death. It knew me. I knew it.

I could do this either of my own choices or allow fate to take place.

"You wanted me?" I asked. My voice sounded weak. "What do you want from me?" This time I sounded stronger. "This is your chance," I said. The breeze picked up, the sound whispering past my ears. I took a step closer. "Show me."

Before turning in a surprisingly graceful move, the beast reached up and lifted the hood of its cloak, the fox head, up over its own head. It didn't check to see if I was following, it simply began to walk.

Two wide limping steps that barely disturbed the swirling snow as it blew around its feet. This time I did moan. It moved through the mist without interrupting the breeze. It was unnatural.

I squeezed my eyes shut tightly. One breath and then another... Then I followed.

I smoothly navigated around branches and shrubs as it strode ahead, fast but ungainly. Thump, drag. Thump, drag. Just like across my roof. But instead of pacing slowly, this time it walked with purpose. We were moving north-west, it was leading us parallel to the lake, but then it shifted and we went past the lake and further into the national park. While I darted around obstacles, it plowed straight on through, snapping branches in its way, striding straight through bushes and thickets.

I panted with exertion. This was like walking with Rick but worse. I had to chase it to keep it within view. I managed to awkwardly wriggle out of my coat and tie it around my waist. The sweat had soaked through the layers on my back.

"Where are we going?" I called between panting breaths but it neither answered, nor paused. We passed the place Rick and I once shared a picnic lunch and it scrambled up the rocky hill across the other side of the glade, slowing down just enough for me to catch up. It didn't pause for a break when we cleared the rocky outcrop, it simply strode on.

Another hour passed. Then another. The stench of the beast didn't abate, but it became endurable. Nor did it slow or answer my questions.

Either way, the two of us were making fast work trekking the valley to the northern part of the park. We were moving up and through the foothills of one of the smaller mountains.

This mountain had no ski fields, but I knew from memory it had some summer hiking trails accessible from the other side. I managed to choke down two of my granola bars as we walked and some water all without slowing down. My legs were wearying and every step was becoming deliberate and requiring my will to continue.

"Please," I called. "Slow down! I need a break." My voice whipped past me in the wind. It had picked up the pace as we crossed to a more exposed area of the mountainside. It didn't reply or acknowledge me. A few paces later, I stumbled over a protruding pine root but managed to gain footing. It wasn't going to stop for me.

I tried to jog to keep up, but my feet slipped under the tracking of the crisp snow. My glutes burned, my heels rubbing against my boots, my nose turned numb from wind and cold hours earlier.

We crossed over a small creek bed, sending the blackbirds crying in fear up into the gray sky. I checked my wrist, then cursed my stupidity when I realized I'd forgotten to put on my watch that morning. For all my preparation, I was still somehow under-equipped.

On the other side of the creek, the terrain changed; large boulders jutting in between stands of pines, the snow cover thickening, the forest more unprotected and desolate. We climbed on higher and though sweaty, I didn't dare slow my steps, and as I used my scarf to wipe my face, I tripped up over another protruding root. I tumbled to the ground, my legs tangling beneath me, the side of my head slamming against a jutting piece of granite.

"Ughh." I pulled myself up to my elbows, blinking away worst of the pain. I touched the side of my head, the pain spiking in an alarming way. The beast finally stopped, looking back over its shoulder and blinked slowly once. I drew myself up onto my hands and knees and shakily stood. My knees wobbled, my head throbbed... but I was okay. It waited for me and I took three cautious steps toward it, trying my best to step surely. My ankle gave way, twisting in such pain that I let out a scream. I fell again, but this time I caught myself on my hands and knees. I pressed my forehead against a patch of snow, gasping for breath. I felt the thud of its heavy steps as it approached me. I focused on breathing slowly through my mouth, the stench coating the inside of my nostrils.

"My ankle..." I rasped. The pain was intense, bolts of fiery ice zinging up the length of my calf. It was sprained. Maybe broken, even. I lifted my head when the beast reached me and we appraised each other calmly.

"Help me," I panted.

It blinked. If it left me here on the side of the mountain, there would be nothing I could do. A huge clawed hand descended and grasped my forearm, nails digging through the layers of my cotton thermals, pinching the skin.

My pack went tumbling down the rocky hill we'd just climbed, clattering against across rocks and bouncing off the snowy ground before landing atop a leafless shrub, the weight disappearing from my back like a lifeline being ripped away. I screamed out "No!" but it was too late.

It tugged hard on my arm and I forced myself to limp alongside it. I stared up the hill, wondering how much further it was to go. What time was it?

Progress was slower, I felt hot and cold and shivery. Each step caused pain. The shock was setting in. Not from the injury – no. It was a mental shock. Death was grasping me and dragging me to god knows where.

We made it over a small crest and down a shorter valley when we finally slowed. We paused at the base of a huge incline, sparsely covered in trees and innumerable large boulders that steeply climbed up and away from us. When the beast tried to haul me up the first boulder, I scrabbled uselessly; my ankle stiff, swollen and slipping under me. I cried for it to stop, but it hauled me harder and I fell.

Instead of landing on the roughened boulder, it caught me and I was pulled up off the ground. I let out a hoarse sound as I landed roughly on its shoulder, my face dangling over and staring down the boulder as it continued to climb, the fox skin brushing against my cheek. Its cold grip soaked through where it held me and deep into my skin, settling like an ache in my bones. I grasped onto the back of the fox fur, pinching it tightly in my fists. Lord help me, the smell. Its limbs, on closer examination, weren't the pitch black like I had first thought, there were shades of dark browns, peaks, and valleys of muscles that rippled down the back of its legs, the tendons protruding from the back of its enormous feet. It was hairy but not furry.

I hitched a sudden breath as the ground quickly dropped away from us, the beast pulling us up an incredibly steep section. I was definitely facing the wrong direction for this. One misstep and we would be falling like pebbles down the side of the mountain. I squeezed my eyes shut tightly and began whispering that gospel song under my breath again, praying that everyone I loved in heaven, and even God himself, had my back.

I opened my eyes again when I felt the terrain flatten. I realized that the large drops I'd been witnessing on the ground behind us were coming from me. I touched the side of my head that hit the boulder and my fingers came away bloody. I winced and prodded the wound gingerly, trying to assess the damage.

"I'm okay. Just keep going if you can keep carrying me."

It hissed, soft and slow in return.

As we traveled, I stared unfocused at our bloody path, I was dripping quickly like a leaking faucet. The racing of my heart and my current position was not helping stem the blood flow. Head wounds always bled like a bitch.

In that position, I dozed - someway, somehow, and incredibly. Bizarre as it was. Maybe it was blood loss, or maybe I had a concussion. Maybe my brain just chose to shut down in shock, given the fact that I was hitching a ride on the shoulder of some sort of the prince of death.

An everlasting amount of time passed before it threw me off its shoulder. I landed against the trunk of a large pine, gasping my way back into full consciousness. I took stock of our surroundings, we were on a gentle slope, besides the peak of the mountain. It was a small peak on a small mountain. We were high, but not dizzyingly so.

"Are we here?" I pressed my sleeve against my head and checked it for blood. It came away red, but not soaked. The beast watched me carefully and let out a crackling grunt. "I guess you want me to see for myself." I unwrapped my coat from my waist and put it back on. I leaned against the trunk and slowly pushed myself up to my feet, favoring my good leg. "Where do I start?"

It grunted again and turned, toward the side of the peak. I didn't recognize the rock formations on this side. It must be away from the hiking path. From memory, it wasn't easy to make your way around to this side of the mountain. In fact, I didn't think I'd ever explored this far, which was saying a lot since I'd been hiking this mountain range every summer as a girl.

A mixture of dread and anticipation throbbed inside my chest sending tingles to my fingers. Whatever this ...thing... wanted me for, I was on the cusp of finding out why. The feeling tasted bold and bitter in my mouth. I had so little meaning in my life. I'd lost my life partner and was subsequently cast from my job. I came here trying to recapture a sense of self that had been muddled by years of denying myself any sort of self-care... And this is where I ended up. On a bleak mountain, with the prince of death, and it needed me. No one else. I was chosen. It wasn't an ego thing, it wasn't that I felt ... proud or vain that I was its focus, but it allowed me something I didn't realize I had been missing. Purpose.

The purpose wasn't a tangible thing, it wasn't something that someone could give you – like a job or a role. It was a fire ignited by a spark of deep need in your chest. I had almost grasped that sense of purpose in helping Maggie with her investigations, but even then, it was like trying to capture a fistful of lamplight. It was impossible. I wasn't trained. I couldn't put two and two together the way a trained and seasoned detective could. I couldn't untangle a mystery that was nearly two decades old. But here? Now? Maybe I could. Maybe, God had it all predetermined? That I would be facing off with this beast.

The beast panted and grunted, staying more or less immobile as it lifted its arm and pointed towards the peak. The smallish sized cliff about twenty feet high with rocky boulders that were almost completely smooth. I shook my head slowly.

"I can't climb that."

It hissed again, stringy threads of saliva falling down from the corners of its mouth and swinging pendulously from its jaw. It turned and moved toward the peak and I hobbled to my feet after it, catching up.

We got to the cliff and I palmed the rocks, looking up. I couldn't see anything. I craned my head left and right, looking for anything. It grabbed my arm, startling me and tugged. It pushed us through the low branches, my hair snagging as we went until I finally saw what we came for.

The mouth of a small cave, formed between the boulders, the entrance completely dark. I leaned against the side of the rock wall to gradually lower myself down to my knees, mindful of my swollen ankle. The entrance was small but just wide enough for me to crawl through.

"In here?" I peered inside and cleared some of the cobwebs that lined the entrance away with my gloved hand. Tiny pine needles were caught in the webbing. "Really?" I looked back at it and gave me the first indication I'd ever had that let me know it had some idea of what I was saying.

It nodded.

It wasn't quite a smooth and fluid as a normal nod. No, its head moved up and down like the way dead tree branches snapped – sharp, hard.

"But I can't see in there for shit!" My voice amplified as it traveled into the chamber. There was not a pinprick of light inside the tunnel. My voice echoed back after a second. "I had my torch in my pack…" I looked up to the beast hopefully, but it shouldered past me, knocking me back onto my bottom. It got onto its hand and knees and hissed again, its gathering drool finally dripping off its jowls. It was exciting. Or angry. I couldn't tell which.

"I – I – don't know. I don't think I can go in there." I pushed myself backward away from it, shaking my head. My head injury made it felt like my head kept shaking back and forward even when I'd stopped. The beast snarled and grabbed suddenly onto my ankle, pulling me towards it. I screamed and snatched onto the nearest tree, but my gloved fingers failed to grip. I twisted in its grasp, as I watched as it ducks its head into the entrance of the small cave. There was a series of sickening crunches and pops as it contorted its body to fit the small entrance.

"No!" I shrieked. It pushed its way in with a hissing snarl and jolted me forward as the rest of its frame slid abruptly through. It dragged me through the snow and I tore off my gloves, flinging my arms out reaching for something – anything – that I could grasp hold of.

I was pulled into the black, my hands gripping onto the creviced edges of the tunnel entrance, and then it was dark. There was barely enough room to twist and turn, I grasped onto the edges inside the cave walls. The rock was gritty and rough, my nails catching and scraping the sides, but it was futile.

Panic flooded my senses, chasing all rationality away. I wanted to help. I wanted to submit to this sense of purpose that had been clawing inside of me. But this was madness! What good would I be in the dark, in a claustrophobic cave? I couldn't see anything. Or do anything. I was trapped in a nightmare. The tunnel narrowed, squeezing in around me and I flailed, my voice cracking, my back thumping against the top of the tunnel. It pulled me and I grasped the walls harder.

"Stop, just stop!" I shrieked.

It let out a feral screeching hiss and it shook me, tugging me back and forth hard by my leg. I cried out and my head whipped back, slamming against the tunnel wall. For a split second, I thought I saw something, a woman or a girl. Then I see a flash of light. And then a beam of white light streamed in from the tunnel entrance blurred and faded. I shivered as black waves closed in around me. My vision was narrowing...I'm having a terrible time focusing. I feel my eyes rolling wildly in my head. Soon, I lost complete control of my limbs and all went black.


	24. Not What It Seems

"Michonne!" My head bobbed up off my chest as I was shaken.

"I'm awake, I'm awake…" I mumbled.

"Michonne, wake up!"

"…Aaron?" I opened my eyes to find myself still sitting, knees to chest, at the base of the tree trunk. The clouds had parted now, and I was situated in a patch of damp sunshine. Aaron was crouching in front of me. I tried to reach out to him but he grasped me in a hug first, laughing with relief.

"Good God, woman what happened to you?" He pulled away from me, cupping my chin and it was all I could do to hold my head up. Aaron is awfully handsome in his ranger uniform, his tan shirt peeking out from under their army green waterproof jacket.

"Hi there Aaron," I said, my words slurred and hard to form. I managed a smile, the cracks in my lips stinging.

He nodded, his eyes serious and lips pressed thin, he opened a package of bright foil. Aaron pressed instant heat hand-packs into each of my palms and then more on my neck and tucked in between my thighs and armpits. Aaron wrapped me in the silver space blanket a moment later, there was a thermos cup held to my lips and I was drinking warm, sweet, milky tea.

I leaned against Aaron gratefully as he radioed our location to the rescue chopper.

"What were you doing out here, Chonne?" he whispered into my ear.

The next lucid sensation was the swipe of a dry, smooth thumb across the back of my hand, the squeeze of fingers pressing into my palm. My eyelids felt heavy, but not as heavy as every other time I'd tried to open them over the course of the last twelve hours. I blinked against the bright lights and groaned.

"It's okay Michonne." The words were softly spoken by my side. "You're at the hospital. You're okay."

I groaned again and closed my eyes. I was sick of trying to grasp hold of consciousness. So many hours had passed where I'd felt like bathwater whirl-pooling down the drain; I'd been helpless to fight against the pull of unconsciousness.

"Can't stay awake," I mumbled, lifting my free hand to touch whatever was over my face muffling my words. Another ranger, female, one whom I'd never seen before, covered my face with an oxygen mask.

The voice shushed me, and I felt my blankets being adjusted by another person, the mechanical whir of the bed rising slightly. I opened my eyes again and turned my head slightly towards the movement.

"Rick."

"Hello, Michonne."

I felt my eyes prickle with tears.

"I feel weird," I said. The words were thick on my tongue and muted by the mask.

"As I would imagine. Aaron said you're in shock. You're hooked up to machines that are working at slowly warming your core body temperature."

"Okay," I said, slowly accepting the information. The air blowing in through the mask felt warm. "I'm glad you're here," I found myself saying to him. The memories of the last twenty-four hours were hovering like shadows at the edge of my awareness, threatening to collapse on top of me. I squeezed his fingers lightly.

He nodded, "There is no place I'd rather be than with you," and said, giving me the sexiest smile I'd ever seen. "I'll call the nurse. She asked that I call her as soon as you were lucid." He stood from his chair and my eyes fixated on his cute backside leave the room. He reappeared in the doorway less than a moment later. "Before I forget - Beth Green, asked me to pass on that she is taking care of Noah for you. She knew you'd be worried."

I nodded weakly. My brain hadn't quite caught up to speed, I hadn't even considered Noah yet, but I was grateful for one less thing to worry about.

He left and came back some minutes later with the nurse, who fussed over the IV tubes delivering the warmed fluids intravenously, the monitors strapped to my finger delivering my pulse and heart rate and the oxygen mask on my face. Rick moved out of the nurse's way and stood at the foot of the bed, gripping the baseboard watching as she hovered around me working. His features were pinched with concern, though his eyes were tender.

A blanket, light and puffy, was pumped with heated air and sat atop me like a billowy marshmallow.

The nurse spoke with me for some time, describing the various ways in which I was currently being treated. I'd be spending a few days in the hospital, she said, and I was to expect some pain as the blisters set in on my toes. Shit. That meant I had frostbite. They were keeping me medicated with pain relief and antibiotics for now. She told me the doctor on the ward would come around soon to explain my condition and what's needed to be done moving forward.

"Michonne," Rick said the moment the nurse left the room, "What were you doing out there?" He asked, his stunning blue eyes peering at me, in search of answers.

"I was following death," I uttered out, inside I cringed, realizing I sound like Dolores.

"Michonne," he rasped, confusion displayed perfectly on his handsome face, "Is this about that thing we saw outside your house?" He asked leaning in and taking my hand into his.

I nodded and leaned forward to hug him. After a moment his arms tentatively returned the gesture. I squeezed him as tightly as I could, which in my current condition was barely tight at all.

"It's not over..." I said and brushed his stubbled cheek with a kiss and let him go, reclining back against the bed. My strength was exhausted.

"We can only move forward." He was smiling big now.

Movement in my periphery caught my attention and I turned to see Jessica standing at the door. She was gaudy, dressed in a blue jersey dress with her red hair swept in a shiny wave across one shoulder. She smiled nervously, an outrageously huge bouquet of flowers in her arms.

"Hello, Michonne." She moved in and placed the flowers over on the windowsill. I quickly swiped the tears from my cheeks, though I was sure she'd already seen them. "How are you?" she asked.

"I've seen better days," I replied croakily. She leaned over the bed to peck me on the cheek.

"I'm so glad you're okay. Everyone was very worried when we heard you went missing while hiking. I was very worried." I nodded wanly, pulling the oxygen mask back over my face.

"I also need to apologize, Michonne," she said. I waved a hand in protest but she cut me off. "No, I do. I don't mean about Rick. I mean…" She cleared her throat uncomfortably, her eyes darting across to Rick, who nodded in a firm yet encouraging way. She gripped the bed frame and stared down at her hands. "I need to apologize for the way I treated you when we were teens. We were cruel then; it was reprehensible."

"That's fine, Jessica – really. It's water under the bridge." After my ordeal, all my previous worries felt like water under the bridge. Especially this.

I hadn't the energy for any convincing, anyway. Michonne the lawyer had checked out for the day.

Rick nodded towards the door where Maggie and Glenn stood.

"We'll talk more when you are feeling better." His eyes brightening, he beamed, leaned in and pressed a tender kiss on my forehead.

"Of course."

"Take care, Michonne." Jessica smiled at me and then waved at Maggie; Rick and Jessica were barely out of the room before Maggie started on me.

"Bitch – what the ever-loving fuck is wrong with you!?"

"Is this Sheriff Magdalene Rhee asking, or BFF M.G.?" I retorted tiredly.

"For Christ-sakes, Maggie. Give the girl a break. She looks like she's hooked up to The Matrix right now and you're interrogating her!" Glenn commandeered his wife by the shoulders, moving her to sit in the chair that Rick had vacated. Maggie hovered at the end of the bed, flashing me an awkward glare.

"Shut your damn mouth, Glen. I can interrogate her if I damn well want to, she's my Michonne." She turned to me, her face crumpling and she burst into messy tears. Glen looked between the both of us like a deer caught in headlights. I managed to shift over in bed before reaching for Maggie with my hand. She climbed up onto space I made on the bed for her and she wrapped me in a fierce hug. I winced and moaned and she apologized, immediately letting go.

"I thought you were dead. We searched until dark and… and I really, honestly thought you were dead," she choked out. Glen passed over a handful of tissues, which we both used to mop up our collective tears. "Jesus Christ, what were you thinking?" she cried.

"It's hard to explain." I looked cautiously over to Maggie.

"It's my fault!" Maggie piped up, moving around to stand at the opposite side of the bed from Glen. "I put the idea into her head. We were talking about the missing girls and I got wondering about how the girls might have been dumped in the national park."

"So, you just took off, Michonne?" Glen said and Maggie leaned back to get a better look at me and she squeezed my shoulders in disbelief.

"I didn't just take off…" I mumbled, more than aware how crazy I sounded. "The girl…" I gasped. The girl in the cave!" I hadn't properly thought about it since awakening, hadn't fully acknowledged head-on the true extent of what I'd found. That girl was Kathi Simpson, one of missing girls. A light was beaming on her and around her were countless skulls.

"A girl in the cave?" Maggie's disposition changed immediately. Her face grew serious, her tone cold and inquiring. She shifted back into the chair beside my bed. BFF M.G. was gone, I was now talking to Sheriff Rhee. Maggie's expression changed to cautious hope. "Tell me about what you saw." she breathed.

"I – uh…I mean the skulls… I was hiking the back of Mt. Azul." I tried to sit up straighter and Maggie pressed the bed remote into my hand. I used it to raise the back of the bed until I was in a seated position, my mind using the spare seconds to scrabble together an acceptable story. "I got injured - twisted my ankle, knocked my head, and the night was quickly falling. I found a cave hidden behind a stand of trees. I crawled in seeking shelter and there was a small cavern inside. I realize now, those were not rocks I was crawling over, but they were the tops of skulls, lots of them.

I filled Maggie in as best as I could on the location, but the nurse soon arrived giving my visitors five more minutes. Maggie promised to come back first thing the next morning in an official capacity to question me. She had a look in her eye, one telling me she would be planning a full expedition up to the cave and I would see her as soon as the sun was up tomorrow. I told her to bring coffee and scones.

"I don't negotiate with terrorists," she wisecracked with a smile.

"Mag, you are the terrorist," Glen complained leading her out by the hand and blowing me a kiss over his shoulder.

My doctor came in a few minutes after Maggie departed. Dr. Donna Johnson was a middle-aged woman who listened carefully, jotting notes as I repeated the manufactured tale I'd delivered to Maggie and Glen about my failed trek into the woods. I told her how I slipped trying to climb a rocky face, knocking my head twice and twisting my ankle.

"But what about these marks?" she asked, lifting the sleeve of my hospital gown. My arm was covered by a huge white bandage.

"Marks?"

"Long, moderately deep slashes. Are they claw marks?"

I gasped and placed a protective hand against the bandage, feeling the weight of her scrutiny.

"Do you think they're clawing marks?" I repeated, pulling out some deposition tricks I advised my clients to use while being questioned.

"Yes, they appear very similar."

"When you say claws, you mean animal marks?" I asked after a long pause.

"Yes, claws marks – as in originating from an animal." She enunciated her words carefully while tapping her pen impatiently against the page of her file.

"How strange," I finished. "I didn't have any encounters with animals."

"Perhaps it happened while you were unconscious."

"That's a possibility."

She moved on to my general condition after that. I was improving rapidly, she said. The intravenous antibiotics would continue as would the fluids, though they would move on to normal room temperature saline after the current bag emptied.

"The injured foot that was uncovered poses a risk," she said, lifting the air blanket to examine it where it sat raised on its little bed of pillows. "The ankle was x-rayed earlier this morning when you came in and it isn't broken, but it is severely sprained. However, your toes are frostbitten. You may remember us rewarming your extremities in warm water when you first arrived." I didn't. I had only the foggiest of memories from the morning. "We have your leg elevated and splinted for both the frostbite and the sprain. Your hands and left foot are all fine, and given the length of time, your right foot exposure was relatively short, as well as the precautions you took overnight, I don't expect your toes to suffer any extreme effects. However, there is still a chance you may lose one or more toes, but we will see how you go in the coming days. Certainly, you will experience inflammation." She tucked the blankets back over me again. "Expect pain, extreme itchiness, swelling with bruise-like patches. The skin will easily split and ulcerate, so be extra careful of treating each wound accordingly. You do not want a secondary infection. Your bandages will be changed a few times a day from now on."

"Okay, pain, ulcers and a good chance of amputation. Fun times ahead."

"Do not worry, amputation is the worst case. I will come back with a frostbite information sheet for you to read over. Now, have you eaten yet?"

"No, ma'am."

"Alright, I'll ask the nurses to find you some sandwiches and juice to hold you over until dinner. Is there anything I can get you before I go?"

"A bedpan? I think my bladder can only hang on another minute or two."

"I'll send a nurse right in." She chuckled, patting my knee. "You've done well, Michonne. You're tough."


	25. Family, Friends and Something Else

Anyone who's stayed any length of time in a hospital will tell you sleep is a futile endeavor. It's a never-ending orchestra of strange sounds, the hiss of oxygen; the grinding bleep of the heart monitor; the rhythmic tapping of feet walking the hallways; the off and on murmur of conversations passing your door. But it was the hourly observations which bothered me most; regardless of how quiet the nurses kept their movements, I was always wide awake the moment they were beside me shining their penlight on my file, fiddling with my monitors, and inflating the blood pressure cuff around my arm. It was a routine I was familiar with from those weeks spent at Grams bedside. It stirred awful memories and triggered a terrible mix of nostalgia and dread.

I slept fitfully that night and stirred after midnight, though sometime in between my hourly observations, an accompanying murmur of a male voice chimed in. A male voice which I knew...Very well.

"It's okay... Let's just... Tomorrow we can..." The words faded between hisses and beeps of the medical equipment in my room.

I winced, pulling myself up in bed from where I'd slumped down during sleep and grabbed my remote. I pressed the nurse's call button, waited a moment until it chimed and I turned it off again. The little light outside my door in the hallway flicked on and then off. I did it again, on and off in repeated succession multiple times, the chime ringing down the hall and the light flashing. A single set of jogging footsteps echoed off the floor and a familiar frame filled doorway way.

"Michonne." My name sounded like a sigh of relief passing his lips.

"It's me, what's left of me," I said wryly.

He let out a dry, tired laugh. "Can I come in?"

Nurse Debbie Warren appeared behind him. She moved around him, looking like she didn't know whether to cry or pull the security alarm.

"It's okay," I said to both of them. "He can come in. We'll be quiet."

"Five minutes," she said, arms crossed.

I switched on the lamp beside the bed. Morgan sat heavily in the chair beside my bed and dropped his head in his hands, dragging his hands across his dark wavy hair. "You're okay." He exhaled raggedly.

I reached over and touched the back of his hand lightly. When he looked up his eyes were puffy rimmed and glassy.

"You look a hot mess," I said, it's unlike Morgan to be unshaven.

He cracked a grin. "Woman, have you seen yourself?" He looped his fingers with mine before I could withdraw my hand. "What happened? I tried calling you…left a ton of messages, we all wanted to stop by on our way back from Atlanta, but you never answered…So I called Maggie; finally, she called me late that night telling me you'd left that morning and hadn't come back. She was hysterical, going on about Noah leading her somewhere...so Carol called her mom to watch the kids and here we are…" He shook his head slowly in disbelief. "Is your ankle broken?" he asked, observing my strapped ankle, still elevated on multiple pillows.

"No, but…but I might lose some toes." He looked alarmed and I felt something inside of me crack. With a wobbly voice, I continued, "Have you ever seen frostbitten feet? They're so disgusting… So, there goes wearing sandals ever again. And they had to shave a patch at the side of my head so they could glue my head where I busted it open. I also have claw marks on my arm that is definitely going to scar." I pinched my lips shut before I started sounding even more pathetic. I didn't even care about those things, not really, but somehow at that moment the idea Rick might not find me as attractive as he used to, completely devastated me. Urgh. Priorities, girl. I had mine all messed up.

"I hate it here," I whispered harshly, and the tears finally spilled over. "I hate hospitals. I hate them so much. I'm so tired, but I can't sleep. It's like trying to relax in this awful tomb of memories from back then. The smells and the sounds… Every time I try to relax it's like I'm being sent back in time and I'm next to Gram's bed, waiting for her to die all over again."

"When do you get to go home?" He rubbed my back soothingly, soothing himself at the same time.

"I don't know… They want to watch how my toes progress over the next few days. Later in the week, I guess."

Nurse Warren walked in again and looked at us expectantly.

"Do you want me to go?" he asked quietly, not releasing me from the embrace. I shook my head. He stood up and squared his shoulders. "I'm not leaving. If you have a problem with that you'll have to physically remove me - but then you'll find yourself dealing with Carol, whom you met in the foyer earlier."

The nurse let out an overburdened huff. Seemed she was expecting this. "Fine. Just be quiet, there are other patients trying to sleep. I'll find you a blanket and a pillow. One time only – this won't fly tomorrow night."

He sat back down when she left and he smiled brightly at me. That's my big bro!

"Thank you." I twisted in bed a little to face him as much as my bad foot and sore head would allow. The room, my condition, and even the events of the last day all seemed to fade away. I let myself relax.

"It's no problem. Sometimes nurses forget that patients are paying customers in hospitals. You have rights also."

We chatted casually for a while and then watched television, soon we both dozed off.

I awoke with the 6 am round of observations. I'd slept undisturbed by my nurse's comings and goings over the last few hours, an extra dose of the pain medication helping to knock me out. I looked across the room to Morgan, asleep and curled awkwardly in the vinyl armchair in the corner, the blanket draped over him.

"I need to use the restroom," I whispered to Nurse Warren who nodded, unhooking me from machines and passing me the crutches. She hovered as I crutched to the small room in the opposite corner of the room. I relieved myself and followed it up with washing my hand and face and then brushing my teeth.

"How are your pain levels?" she asked, after helping me back into bed.

"About a 3," I said, lifting my leg back up onto the pillows that were elevating it. "I'm okay. My toes are throbbing and burning on this foot."

"That's normal. You're nearly due for your next round of pain relief, so that will take the edge off."

Nurse Warren got me all situated. An hour later Carol made my morning by bringing me some of her homemade fudge. While we chatted about old college friends, Morgan went out and brought us back a wonderful breakfast from Sasha's Café. We all conversed while enjoying a scrumptious, maple sausage, eggs, hash brown casserole, with biscuits, and gravy and a large cup of hot coffee. They left around 10 am and Rick arrive shortly after.

"Finally, I get you all to myself." He said smirking at me with those bedroom eyes, he moseyed over to me. God, he has the sexiest strut.

"It was really busy here yesterday." I agreed, "I'm not sure how to feel about half the town making a fuss over me and everyone seeing me look so awful."

"Hey, hey, hey…" Rick scooted the chair closer. "That stuff doesn't matter, Michonne. Your hair will grow back, the scars will fade and I'll still love your funky, gross toes."

I couldn't help let out a watery laugh in response. He leaned over the bed to awkwardly embrace me. I buried my head into his neck, drawing in his scent, I missed his warm and familiar scent.

"Seriously, you went through something unbelievable, out there in those conditions for over a day..." He stared at me in awe for a moment.

"Did you drive the entire eight hours?" I asked, breaking him, from whatever was running through his mind.

"I stopped only to gas up. "The great American road trip I'd always planned," he said, with a wry grin. "I drove faster than I should have, I was only getting intermittent updates from Jessica."

So that's how he found out what was happening here.

"Did you talk her into apologizing to me?"

"No, she asked me if I thought it was a good idea, and I thought it was." His forehead crinkled in a manner which I always find endearing, "You hadn't forgotten after all these years and neither had she. So now you can both move forward."

"Speaking of moving forward…" I closed my eyes and sighed.

"I understand, you were talking about the creature yesterday, not us."

"You were right," I said, placing my hand over his before opening my eyes again. "About how I would have taken the fact you'd had a green card marriage and the weird blackmail deal Andrea struck with you. If you'd told me when we first met I would have judged you terribly. Not as bad as you were making out, but it wouldn't have counted in your favor."

"And how about now?"

"I couldn't give a flying fuck," I said and his face broke out into a broad grin. "Being at the cabin, meeting you… everything else, it's given me perspective. I feel like for the first time it's okay to just let myself be happy. It's okay not to be so goal-oriented or focused on my career or even be so tightly wound. I mean, that's the reason I moved here, isn't it?" I brought his hand around and kissed the knuckles. "I'm sorry for sending you away without giving us the chance to talk about it. It was shitty and cowardly of me."

"I should have told you sooner. I'm sorry I didn't. And I'm sorry that Maggie was the one who broke it to you."

I nodded, unsure of what to say next.

"I'm going to kiss you now." He said and my eyes widened.

"My breath could probably knock out a horse," I replied, too tired to lift my head off the pillow but still possessing enough energy to feel a rush of excitement.

"I couldn't give a flying fuck." He leaned forward to press an insistent, though soft kiss against my lips. His warm tongue slipped forward to caress my own, and I palmed the scruff on his cheek.

"I missed you," he said, absently rubbing my arm. "I left and wanted to come back straight away. I felt like the biggest piece of shit…Karen kept stopping me… She said to give you time. All I wanted to do since Christmas was to come back to you."

"I'm glad you're here now."

"Me too."

"I feel like my whole life was turned up on its head this week," I said quietly.

"It's okay to feel out of control sometimes."

"I'm not the control freak you think I am," I complained sourly.

"You're getting better. It's okay to let go sometimes, Michonne. The world isn't your responsibility."

"Stop being so reasonable," I grumbled. "Can't you just make sympathetic sounds and tell me I'm right?" I shifted a little to face him better. "Did you sort everything out with Andrea?"

He shrugged. "She's being a bitch, dragging her heels. I don't know what her fucking problem is. I told her she can have the house and she still wasn't happy. She didn't even show up for the meeting, she just sent her lawyer."

"That's bullshit, who's your lawyer and what have they advised?" I asked.

Rick went through the details and I moved the electric bed to sit up.

"Leave it with me," I said when he was done explaining. "Don't make any more contact with her side. You've paid more money into the mortgage than she's contributed and you paid the majority of the deposit, even if it was all in her name. It's just as much yours as hers. More so, perhaps. You need better representation, too. Sounds like your lawyer is just phoning it in. My boss has contacts in New York. I'll get it sorted for you."

"Ah, the control freak returns." He smirked, leaning back in the chair, crossing his hands behind his head.

My face heated and I groaned in embarrassment. "Sorry… You're right." I crinkled my nose which caused him to blush.

"No, please keep going. It's hot. My books nearly finished, this could be all it takes to write an explosive ending." He chuckled.

I quickly changed the subject, "What else did Jessica tell you about what happened to me? I wanted to know what the town was talking about, not that I could do anything about it.

"All she'd heard was second-hand information from Beth. Luckily, Aaron's team found you in just a day, thanks to your bother calling and checking on you. Aaron told Maggie that another day and you would have succumbed to the hypothermia. They found you unresponsive, with almost unreadable pulse rate and said you'd had a seizure while they were transferring you…" He ran his hand through his hair, his voice cracking. I'd never seen him at a loss for words before.

"I had a seizure?" The doctor hadn't mentioned that.

"Yes, that's what Aaron said." Rick pinned me in place with his gaze for a long moment before responding, "Seizure, he said your heart rate had slowed so much by the time they reached you, you were barely conscious and they couldn't even find a pulse, you were hardly breathing. Then you had a seizure on the helicopter flight over."

"I only have fuzzy memories…" Aaron's warm smile and the other female ranger's serious expression. I tried remembering more, that feeling that I'm on the cusp of discovering something important was looming in my mind.

Rick stroked my cheek drawing me from my thoughts. He gently tilted my chin and captured my lips with a soft kiss. "The worst is behind you now," he murmured, as we parted. A tingle ran down my spine.

"Not just that... I had coffee with Mara with a few days before."

"She told you to go up on that mountain?"

"No," I said. "I went out and found it...the creature...I followed it…Mara and I worked it out," I explained. "Well, she connected the dots that it was stalking me for a reason. I followed it and it led me through the park and to the place they were killed or disposed of."

He swore under his breath. "Shit, those missing girls?"

"I think so… But I don't know. They're all bones now. Hidden in a cave on a mountain not far from the lake. Maggie's heading out with a team tomorrow to check it out and retrieve the remains."

"Did it hurt you?" He motioned to his jaw. I lifted my free hand to my own jaw and traced the scrapes I hadn't even realized were there. It must've been from when it dragged me through the tunnel.

"Not intentionally. The other injuries," I said gesturing to my foot, hands, and arms. "Most were all my fault."

Rick asked me to recount the whole tale on the mountain with the entity.

Just as I finished, a nurse I didn't recognize came in. Rick used the time to go to the public restroom across the hall.

She went about her routine, checking charts and machines and then pulled the covers on me. "Is he really Richard L. Grimes?" she asked quietly, nodding towards the door.

"He is."

"Oh, my…" She flushed. "I had no idea."

"You've read his books?"

"I own a copy of every single one of his books. Do you think he'd mind autographing them?" She chewed her lip hopefully and fiddled with my fluid line.

"It depends on whether you let me stay tonight," Rick said reentering the room, causing the nurse to jolt in surprise.

"Well…my shift is about to end, but I'm back in tonight, so I think it can be arranged."

"You've got a deal." He winked at her and she turned to me, red patches rapidly rising along the column of her neck.

"Wait till I tell my husband about this!" She left the room with a pep in her step.

"Perks, huh?" I said turning back to Rick, and unexpected warmth crept through my chest.

He snorted. "I think I'm offended she didn't recognize me, to begin with."

"It's probably because you look homeless," I laughed. "Nothing at all like the author portrait on the back your books."

Rick ran a hand through his beard scruff looking vaguely offended. "I'll have you know I grew this roadkill with my own blood, sweat, and tears like a real man."

I sat up in bed and shifted my leg pillows over and scooched over the edge of the mattress as far as I could.

"Well, we've got an hour before the nurse comes back, Mr. Author Manly. If you want to get in for a cuddle now's your chance."

He threw off his brown jacket and jumped on my bed as quick as a wink. One leg wrapped itself around my good leg, his other knee dug into my thigh while his head rested against mine. It wasn't exactly comfortable, but it was nice.

"Michonne, I believe you are what sleeping people call insane, and what awake people call…. awake."

"Huh," I said, letting the words sink in. I felt him shake with laughter, and I elbowed him playfully.

"Really Michonne, who am I to define the limits of what is or isn't real? No one knows for sure. The day my grandmother died, my mom said she received a phone call from her. The line was full of static, but she heard my grandmother say ' Tell Gilly, don't forget the chrysanthemums.' and then the line disconnected. My mom hung up and tried to call her back to no avail. My aunt and my mom found my grandmother in her home that evening; she'd passed away in her sleep in the very early hours of the morning. Long before my mom got that phone call. My aunt said my grandmother had mentioned once in passing that she wanted bouquets of chrysanthemums at her funeral. I guess she didn't want mum and Aunt Gillian to forget."

"Whoa, you never told me that before, but what I've experienced goes a little beyond sweet ghostly phone calls. I wouldn't blame you for doubting me."

"I don't doubt you at all," he said. "You found what it wanted to show you. You can relax now."

I leaned into the warmth of his hard body, his comfort chasing away the lingering chill of fear. I closed my eyes and enjoyed the simple pleasure of being reunited with Rick.


	26. The Significant Gesture

Beth sat on the bed next to me showing me pictures and videos on her phone of Noah, who seemed to be lapping up all the attention from her. Looked like Beth was letting him sleep on her bed too, he's going to be spoiled rotten now…

"How'd you beat me here BG?" Maggie asked her little sister as she strode in with her promised coffee and muffins. Rick sat up in his chair, his posture stiffening.

"I asked Dad to wake me, you know how early he gets up."

"Butt-crack of dawn," they both chimed in unison while letting out a hearty laugh.

"I'm a little late, but I had to make a stop at the station first."

I reached out for the bag in her hand. "No worries, now gimme…" I need me some hot buttery muffins. Maggie passed the bag and the cup of java over and gave Rick the serious side eye.

"How you doin'?"

"Better," I said after swallowing a mouthful of chocolate muffin.

"Good. This isn't a social call, sorry. Got some time to go over those maps with me?"

"Absolutely." I nodded.

We cleared my table and spread a detailed map of the park across it. Beth loaned me her phone since it had the biggest screen out of everyone's, and we used it to work out the location of the cave from a combination of Google earth images and going off the map. Maggie worked out a tentative trail with her red pen.

"Right," she said capping the pen. "I'm ready. I've got a forensics team on standby. The chopper is waiting to drop me and Heath out on the mountain, but it'll still be a good hike up to the cave."

"You will find the bones," I said, sensing her worry. "Just go."

She gave me a tight hug. "You just worry about yourself, Chonne. When Heath and I find the bodies, we can call the feds and hand the case off to them. I imagine I'll be assisting them, but for the most part, my job will be done."

She straightened up and turned to Rick with an accusing finger. "And you. I don't know what your deal is yet, but don't you even think about doing anything to hurt my girl. I'm a black belt in Tae-Kwon-Do and I've competed nationally and placed. I'll fuck your ass up."

I manage to swallow my mouthful without choking but, to my surprise, Rick stood with a determined and unyielding set to his expression.

"Maggie!" I hissed. I gave her a significant look. A 'we'll talk about this later' look.

Maggie planted a hand on her hip, looking imposing in her full uniform.

"I was stupid. I'd like to blame my gender, but it's all on me. I should have been up front. I count myself lucky to know Michonne, and frankly, I probably deserve a good ass kicking generally speaking, but you have my word, I'll never knowingly do anything to hurt her." Rick reached out his hand.

Maggie let him dangle for a second longer than comfortable before clasping his hand and shaking it. "Good." Maggie nodded, satisfied with his response.

Rick stayed a little while longer before he dragged away to shower, change, and eat. "See you soon doll," muttered Rick before kissing me goodbye.

A nurse came and helped me change out of my awful hospital gown, then shower and dress in a clean pair of pajama bottoms and my favorite old ATL t-shirt I used to sleep in. The nurse had changed my sheets while I was showering so when I climbed back into bed I felt the closest thing to human since the beginning of the whole ordeal.

Dr. Johnson came back during her morning rounds and unwound my foot bandage to examine the damage.

"Your ankle looks good," she said, gently pulling up my pajama leg. "Considerable bruising, but the swelling has decreased."

"My toes?"

"Not so bad. Would you like to see?" At my nod, she sat the electric bed up so I had a better vantage and then peeled the rest of the gauze back. "Bit of swelling here," she pointed to the tips of my toes, "and blisters. There is still a good color. All good signs." She retrieved some clean bandages and began to rewrap them. "I think you'll be safe to begin hydrotherapy on the affected foot this afternoon."

Rick wandered back into the room, clean-shaven and dressed in his usual fitted black jeans, a white t-shirt, and leather jacket. My heart thudded when his face broke into a smile.

"Is this your husband, Michonne?"

Rick put the bag he was carrying on the wide windowsill next to Jessica's flowers and from behind the doctor's back, pulled a silly face at the question.

"No," I said carefully, trying not to squirm. "I'm a widow. This is Rick, my friend." Rick lowered himself smoothly into the visitor seat beside my bed.

"Nice to meet you," he said flashing her his trademark dazzling smile. Flirt. "I'm actually Michonne's boyfriend."

Dr. Johnson raised her brows and turned back to me. "Alright, then. Well, I'll arrange a hydrotherapy session for you this afternoon. Frostbite is reasonably common here this time of year, the hospital is well equipped to treat it."

The rest of the day moved quickly from there.

Hydrotherapy was nowhere near as exciting as I'd envisioned. I was helped into a wheelchair and pushed down the hallway to the lifts and then down a floor to the physical therapy rooms. I then sat with my feet in a small whirlpool bath for twenty minutes. The physical therapist said it would aid with sloughing away any dying skin and also promote tissue regeneration. I wouldn't let Rick accompany me. I still didn't want him to see my gross foot, which after twenty minutes in the warm tub, actually didn't look or feel as gross as I expected it to.

When I was wheeled back up to my room afterward, Mara and Ruth came to visit. Ruth wrapped me in a warm sandalwood hug and Mara nodded at me with a soft smile. Rick moved quickly to help me to bed.

I retold the story to my two newest friends. Ruth was absolutely rapt, her eyes shining as I described The Dark Prince with great detail.

"That is incredible, Michonne. You were smart to follow your intuition and meet him head-on."

"Smart to follow her intuition?" Rick repeated, appalled. "She almost died. She's lucky she survived the night."

"It was her fate. It would have followed her until she submitted to it."

Rick clenched the armrest of his chair, looking madder than a caged bull. I half expected to see steam creep from his ears.

"She is lucky," Mara interjected nervously, her eyes darting between the two. "And smart."

"Excuse me. In case you hadn't noticed, I'm here in the room with you. And it was stupid, but you're right Ruth, it wouldn't have left me alone until I found that cave. I know that now. Still, I was ill prepared."

Mara caught my eye after that, her head tilting to the side, lips pursed. I knew she had something more she wanted to share but didn't want to say it in front of Rick, Ruth or both.

Mara and Ruth had prepared a small gift bag full of herbal solutions and teas to aid my healing, which I thanked them profusely for. Generally, I was a big proponent of modern medicine, but with my toes on the line I was prepared to try anything that might help, provided it didn't get in the way of my doctor's orders.

It was around noon when they left in a round of goodbyes and hugs Mara pressed a folded piece of paper in my hand. She gave me a weighty look as she bid me goodbye.

I wasn't sure why, but I didn't let on to anyone - not even Rick - what had transpired. I slipped the folded paper under my thigh and waited until Rick left for the cafeteria at lunch before opening the small piece of paper, torn from a pocket-sized notebook.

 _I got the confirmation I needed. You're a conduit, the light that shines in the darkness, the voice for the silenced. When you hear something, listen, when you see something, shine your light._

I stared at the hastily penciled words until my gaze became unfocused and the letters blurred together. I looked out the window and swallowed thickly. It was a bleak view outside onto the parking lot. I couldn't explain what Mara sensed either, but it worried me greatly. And after Maggie called that evening from the station, I had an inkling of their significance.

"We fuckin' found it, Michonne," exclaimed my bad-mouthed friend. "It's unbelievable that you even went that deep in the cave! Forensics were all over it, and then crawling across the mountainside all day. The feds are on their way in, bringing their own crew; hopefully, there'll be a handover tomorrow. But it's a shit-show here at the station. Someone alerted the media and they're arriving by the busload."

"You're joking."

"Nope. This is the kind of thing they eat up. Missing teen girls, a twenty-year-old cold case bungled by local investigators and overlooked by the FBI. Whoever alerted the media also told them of your involvement, so be prepared. They'll love the idea that a pretty young lawyer got lost one night on a mountain and stumbled upon this."

"They'll pick me apart!" I had an awful vision of the very, very weak story I told about how I came to discover the cave being pulled to pieces on national television. I was just thankful that Maggie knew and trusted me enough not to doubt my words.

"Just shut them down, Jones-Dixon-lawyer style. And really, you're not even the most newsworthy part of it all."

"What do you mean by that?" I asked, small tendrils of fearful anticipation taking root in me.

"So, we found dozens of skulls, only skulls, no body parts. All of the skulls were female, young and somehow mummified, in a ritualist manner. But as we cataloged the skulls we discovered most of them were hundreds of years old.

My mouth went dry. I looked across to my nightstand where the note sat, still folded. It didn't make sense, but I was no longer naïve enough to confuse an omen staring me straight in the face for simple coincidence.


	27. Into Dreams

"He's in perfect health," Erica declared. We sat together at her desk and I helped her fill out some of Noah's history for his file while Noah took turns getting pats from the both of us.

"Did you have a wild one on New Year's?" I asked.

"Oh no, we left soon after midnight. Aaron and I are pretty sedated these days. What about you and Rick?"

"I'm pretty sure we'll be feeling hung over straight through into next year."

"It sure was a fun night," she said with a giggle. I looked past her to the photo frame on her desk, it was the same couple portrait like on Aaron's desk. She followed my gaze and sighed wistfully.

"He's a good man, isn't he?" she asked. I realized in the proceeding silence it wasn't a rhetorical question, she was waiting for a response.

"That's for sure. I owe him my life."

"We're gonna try for a baby this year."

I'm sure my face revealed my shock. Not so much sudden turn in conversation topic but, rather, the private admission. I barely knew her. I don't know, maybe it was something people shared openly? "That's great news!" I enthused. "You'll both be fantastic parents."

"I sure hope so," she said, the pen fidgeting between her fingers.

"I'm sure you've had enough experience here with all the fur babies."

"Right," she said with a nervous laugh. "How much more difficult could it be?"

"I couldn't tell you for certain, but I know you and Aaron will have no trouble at all…"

Erica nodded absently, staring at the pen in her fingers.

"Did you ever meet Michelle?" she asked suddenly, her gaze darting across to me.

"Yeah, I knew her. She was more my big brother's friend than mine. A few years older than me. So, while we all kinda hung out together during the summers here in the summer general group, her, Aaron and MJ and that whole older crew did their own thing a lot of the time."

"The way Aaron tells it, they had a wild relationship."

"Oh yeah," I chuckled, thinking back. "They ran hot and cold. She was a wild girl. I remember one time her storming up to him at the lake when he was lifeguarding. She was hollering about some girl he was apparently checking out. Aaron went so red in the face, I was sure he was gonna bust a gasket. They were never a good match." I shook my head ruefully, deciding to leave out the part of the story where he dragged her into the lifeguard hut, so they could argue in private, for me to only bust them getting hot and heavy when I went to grab some first aid supplies a little while later.

"I don't know about that," Erica said softly. "Sometimes I think he still misses her. She just up and left him one day, you know? He came home to find all her stuff gone, with only a note to say goodbye."

"Sounds like Michelle," I said. There was no taming her wild streak, Morgan said so himself.

"He was so sweet and charming when we met, but sometimes I think he only pursued me because I was the safe choice."

"No way." I reached over and squeezed her hand. "You should see the way his eyes light up when he talks about you. He's infatuated with you. You can't fake that."

"You think?" she asked, before shaking her head self-consciously. "My gosh, I'm so sorry. I shouldn't be venting all my insecurities onto you." She called Noah over and offered him a treat from a large glass jar on her desk.

"Don't worry," I assured. "We've all got our insecurities. Mine is a mile long. But you, definitely, have nothing to worry about."

We finished up with the appointment making tentative plans for dinner one night through the week. Rick and Aaron were pretty good friends, so the prospect of a double date sounded fun. I left the vet office in a good mood and then swung by the supermarket to grab the few items I still needed for the home. I was still restocking since I'd done away with all the perishables before going to stay with Maggie.

I made the slow drive home, Noah snoozing away and spread out along the back seat. When I got back to the cabin, I messaged Rick asking him over for lunch. He called me back within moments.

"I'm on a writing roll. I'll come over tonight once I've run out of steam. I'm aiming for dinner time."

"Sure thing, hon," I said, balancing the phone between my ear and shoulder as I put groceries away. "I'll see you when I see you."

I prepared a simple lunch, tomato soup, and grilled cheese. After, I took Noah for a walk down to the lake and back. It was the furthest I'd been since that fateful day. Though it was blisteringly cold and overcast, Noah and I each worked up a good sweat. I checked my toes and ankle when I returned. I'd downgraded from the bulky bandage around my ankle to an elastic ankle strap. So far so good. My ankle ached a little, but the swelling had nearly subsided and my range of motion was back. My toe dressings were fine too.

Through the afternoon, I caught up on some emails and Skyped with Morgan and the kids. Morgan didn't seem as worried about me as he had the last time we spoke, that was back when I was still in the hospital. I promised him I was looking after myself, and we discussed tentative dates for summer. He'd need to book time off well in advance if he was taking all his vacation. I was thrilled and totally tempted to start crossing days off the calendar in anticipation. My cheer deflated a little when it occurred to me there would be a new neighbor in the rental next door by then. Rick would be long gone.

Rick eventually messaged to tell me he wouldn't be joining me for dinner, though I figured as much. I missed his company, but I couldn't say it honestly bothered me. How many nights had I worked late in my life? Almost every night. I knew how satisfying it was to get on a roll at work. And I was also more than used to solitude... Not just from living in the cabin, but also that year and a half back in Atlanta after Daryl had died.

The afternoon darkened earlier than usual thanks to the thick cloud cover and I made a BLT, eating it on the couch in front of the TV with a glass of wine. After dinner, I showered, taking time to shave and lotion my legs and changed into my Christmas gift from Maggie: adult-sized onesie pajamas. Baby blue with white snowflakes. It even had a hood with white pom-pom tassels. It was ridiculous. Of course, that meant I absolutely loved it. I got a fire good and roaring, then laid out on the couch.

"You're back," a voice whispered.

I shot up, blinked and looked around. The hanging fluorescent light flickered on and off, the cobbled stone wall flashing in and out of view. I was no longer in my living room; I'm not sure where I am, seated on the sofa; Kathi Simpson, one of the missing girls.

"I'm sorry," I said my heart breaking. "I want to help you… But it's too late." I reached out and grasped her hand.

"Life's not fair, why should death be?" she replied simply.

I heard loud footsteps began above, I jumped, startled but she didn't even flinch, though her fingers tightened around my hand.

"Who? Who is it?" I asked. The footsteps traveled across space of the ceiling above us heading with dreadful inevitability toward the basement door.

"He's never told me his name… How fucking whack is that?" She covered her apologetic smile with her free hand. "Whoops – sorry, language. But you know this place. I know you do."

It was hard to drag my eyes away from Kathi, away from her pretty, freckled face. It was one thing to see these girls as they were immortalized in their photos on the conference room walls of the police station… Seeing her now - alive, as it were. Surreal. I drew myself away and turned, desperately trying to take in every detail, the location of every little thing - just trying to search for something that might trigger a memory or some understanding of where I was. My eyes scanned the ceiling, noticing dark splotches across the ceiling and exposed beams.

"I don't know this place!" I cried. "I really don't." I turned back to Kathi.

"Just listen," Kathi pleaded. "Listen!" I closed my eyes tight, trying to listen, trying to understand; I could hear something, but it was faint… The basement door opened before I could make any sense of it. Footsteps began down wooden stairs. I dived for Kathi and gathered her into my arms, shielding her from whatever was coming. The moment I reached her she dissipated into a white mist and then she was gone, the lights flicker, and all went to black.

The rotting scent of death seemed to coat my skin, the inside of my nostrils, down the path of my throat and into my chest. Wherever I was, I wasn't alone, something was here with me. The sound of the wind was replaced by empty, echoing whir as it passed the tunnel opening somewhere.

I took a deep breath, my hands spread out beside me, patting the ground. Cold rock. I was lying down so I set myself up and scooted back until I hit an obstacle. My hands reached out behind me automatically and I found myself palming damp walls. I drew in a sharp breath. Something about this was familiar. I coasted my hands across the textured wall once more.

I realized now, that this was Mount Azul, the place the Dark Prince lead me too. I felt my arm; the sleeve of my coat was torn and wet with blood. I lifted my hands and brought my palms close. They were raw and grazed from being dragged. My head spun, and I groaned, leaning forward to put it between my knees. I felt gingerly felt the side of my head. There was still an egg and an open wound.

I stared into the dark, my eyes adjusting. I could hear faint dripping, the sound of something wet hitting something wet. Faded light gently permeated the dark from somewhere to my right... I strained forward to see its origin. The shadows around me seemed to creep closer as I did this, but my eyes slowly adjusted. I realized the faint light source was coming from the tunnel to the cave - from where the creature had dragged me - and I was now sitting inside a larger chamber.

"Shhhhh... Ssss..."

My head snapped towards the sound. Deja vu threatened to overwhelm my other senses. I shook my head trying to clear the feeling.

"Hello," I replied.

The Dark Prince replied by hissing, and it moved toward me, kicking something across the ground unintentionally. A hollow clattering sound echoed in the space.

This is what happened to me that night on Mount Azul, the parts that my mind blocked out.

I tried to scan the chamber of the cave we were in. I could see the dark shapes of rock formations. The uneven surface of the floor. Everything else was lost to the darkness and blurred in the low light.

"This is where you wanted to take me?" I asked. I patted the ground around me, my feet stretching out to try and make sense of the lay of the area. It was hard and flat. "Why?"

I moved onto my hands and knees, my hands patting against the floor in front of me.

"Show me what you brought me here for," I whispered hoarsely. "You can't speak, and I can't see worth a damn, but I can feel." I swept my arms out in a wide arc along the floor in front of me, like the traveling green arc on a radar screen. My fingertips brushed against something wet and soft, and I grasped it, rubbing it between my thumb and forefinger. It was a fabric of some sort. I lifted it, holding it up to the fading light. A long strip of worn, decomposing fabric. It was too dark to make out the color or what it used to be. I lowered it back to the floor and continued crawling forward, my arms reaching out in front of me.

My fingers slipped through puddles of cool moisture, over roughened edges of igneous rock, over bumps and cracks before colliding with multiple pieces of hard uneven shapes. I grabbed one and the beast was suddenly at my shoulder, rasping wildly in my ear. His hand gripping mine, preventing me from letting go. I shrieked in surprise, the bouncing back off the walls as loudly as I had yelled.

"Is this it?" His hands left mine and I lifted the rock to the light. It was pitted and rough, and from what I could tell, a deep mottled brown. My hands swept the floor and I picked up another piece of debris, a stick in with similar texture. My hand fluttered across it and onto another piece next to it – and the next piece besides that.

"Oh my god…" My hands moved further. There were hundreds of pieces, some bunched together, others scattered around, all with pieces of smooth tattered fabric strewn in between. "Oh my god…" My hands swept through the debris, over it, searching for something identifying.

A few feet forward, then a few inches to the left my hands finally found it. I lifted it up and scuffled as quickly as I could on my knees across the damp floor to the tunnel opening. I held the object up the light, there was no shaft of direct light shining in from outside, the tunnel must've curved away on its path to the small cavern, but the ambient light was brightest here. My hands trembled as I swept across the smooth, round top, my fingers trailing down the side, I brought it to close so that I could focus on it closely. I was face to face with a human skull.

"How did you get here?" I murmured, tracing the curve of its cheekbone with my pointer finger. "Who put you here?"

I gently placed the skull on the ground and continued crawling through the small cavern.

"Thank you," I called loudly.

The creature had gone.

I pulled myself commando style, elbow-length by elbow-length through the narrow tunnel, my fingers biting into the rough sections of rock to help propel myself forward. I was stuck for minutes, expelling all my breath, sucking in my stomach and trying to twist myself so that I could make my way easily around it. My back and ribs cried out in protest, likely battered and bruised from the first time through when I had lost consciousness. I groaned progressed another inch. Tears of relief squeezed from my eyes when I made the corner. I lay panting for a moment and shifted my head, realizing the tunnel was blessed, deceptively short.

A small section at the bottom of the skull, about two inches in diameter was crushed in. The skin on my finger, rough from my clawing and climbing, snagged along a sharp edge of bone, scraping the top layer but not drawing blood.

"Shoot." I rubbed my thumb against the finger, soothing it. I turned the skull back around and faced the eyeless sockets. "We found you. And next, we'll find your killer."

"Fiat justitia ruat cælum..." Came a whispered reply. Several voices…Daryl's voice was one of them. I sucked in a sharp breath.

"Fiat justitia ruat cælum…" The voices echoed, I know that's Latin, but I don't know what it means.

I could see a silhouette in front of me, it was a womanly figure; she had a beautiful shape, I mean the Marilyn Monroe type figure, Beyoncé would be impressed. She wore a long flowing white gown that accented her ample curves. The womanly figure saunter closer to me and as she did, I was bombarded with feelings, thoughts. These feelings were not towards her, no. These were thoughts embedded deep in me, thoughts I kept deep within me. The type of thoughts most people would be ashamed to admit they had and would never act upon. I felt drunk uninhibited…in that moment I wanted to live out my wildest desires. Passion, pure unadulterated lust, if Rick were around, I'd fuck his brains out. Hunger, so famished if I had something to eat and drink I would eat it, drink it and keep eating until I got so full, so drunk, I'd throw up and I'd eat some more. Anger, so much rage I wanted to be hurt; beat someone for the most minor infraction; I would motherfucking kill them!

Against my better judgment, I scooted forward, closer to the figure. What good was cowering against the cave entrance going to do?

"Don't!" The girls scream "That's him!"

I didn't listen, my curiosity overpowering me fueling the urge to get closer. We neared each other and as we did, parts of her began to morph. Her head became unnaturally larger, horns began to push from the top of her head on each side until her head was no longer human, it was the head of a bull. Her hand, her hands no longer hands at all; they became elongated, hanging fingers that mimicked talons.

She rushed towards me growling, snarling, hissing a snake-like tongue darting in and out of the snout. I bellowed a gut-busting screamed as I scrambled to my feet.

"Michonne!" Rick yelled. I thrashed, trying to run away, but strong hands descended grasping my arms. "Michonne! Wake up!"

I was still yelling as I woke; Noah was barking over and over. I gasped, sobbing for breath and pushed Rick's hands away from me, stumbling backward. I was standing. Standing in the dark. The air cold as a tomb, my body shivering. I nearly slipped but he caught me by the elbow.

"Christ, Michonne. What the hell is going on? Are you okay?"

I spun around on the spot, trying to make sense of where I was, a small part of me expecting to be in the cave or to see the flicker of fluorescents, to smell the mildew of that basement room. Instead, I was in the forest, standing in the snow. The night dark as pitch. I looked, wild-eyed and panting. He was holding his cell-phone, the flashlight turned on; it illuminated his face, exposing his concerned features with strange abstract shadows.

"Sleepwalking?" he asked, he looked down my legs and swore. "Your feet!" He scooped me up immediately, carrying my shivering form back up the hill. I had no clue where we were but Noah led the way.

"I don't know what happened," I said. "I fell asleep on the couch." I clung to his neck, slipping my cold fingers under his collar. The contrast in temperature was so stark his skin burned against my fingers.

"Keep shivering," he said. "You're too cold. You need to keep your body temp up."

"How did you find me?" My teeth chattered.

"I heard Noah barking from my place. Over and over. I called you… You didn't pick up. I drove over and found your sliding door wide open, the lights and TV on." He pressed a firm, warm kiss onto my forehead. "Fuck… I thought..." His words were mumbled against my skin and took a deep breath. "I followed the sound of Noah. You were there just trudging silently in the dark."

As he walked on, I realized just how far I'd traveled. I was nearly at the lake, but almost a mile to the right of my place. I've ventured into national park territory, but across and past multiple properties neighboring me on the opposite side of Rick's place. Where on earth was I going?

Rick deposited me by the fire in the cabin, stripping me out of the onesie and wrapping me in a blanket. He left then returned some fast moments later with a plastic tub filled with warm water, then pushed me in the armchair to face the fireplace. Rick crouched, gently placing each foot into the water. Noah settled beside the armchair, resting his head in my lap.

"My toes…" I said. I couldn't bear to look. The pins and needles were burning. Rick lifted each foot tenderly from the tub, examining them by the firelight.

"They're okay. Maybe a little frostnip. Thank god you had the bandaged on your blistered toes. It protected them. They're not even wet…" He looked up at me. "How long have you been sleepwalking, Michonne?"

"Nothing like this has ever happened before."

"You didn't answer my question," he responded tersely, immersing my foot again.

"The last few nights, I guess. Just waking up in random places in the cabin."

"And your dreams?"

"Still weird," I said, focusing on stroking Noah's head as he drifted off. "I've been dreaming about the murdered girls, the cave, and a room." I shifted uncomfortably under the strength of his gaze. It was like he was fighting a battle between concern and disappointment.

"You should've told me."

I shrugged helplessly.

"Have you told your psychologist?" he asked.

"What are you saying? I'm not crazy." Weren't we having this conversation not long ago?"

"Of course, you're not," he said, squeezing my knee. "But you've been through a shock and I think—"

"You think I'd benefit from professional help," I finished bitterly.

I knew that line. I'd heard it before. From Morgan, Maggie, and even Daryl's mother; they'd all urged me at different points to seek help for my mental state. The thing was, even though I hated hearing it then - just like I did now – at least back then I knew deep down that I needed the help. I had been floundering. But now…? I was fine. I felt sane. Okay, maybe a little worse for wear and tired, but I had a firm grasp of things. I didn't need help. I needed _to_ help. The deaths of those girls, they weighed heavily on me.

"I'm worried you're becoming obsessed."

The words were like a slap. I brushed his hand from my knee and narrowed my eyes at him. "What exactly have I done in the last two weeks that would indicate to you that I'm obsessed?"

"You're not sleeping! You're distracted. I can see your mind turning things over, again and again... Like you're..." He waved his hand around, searching for the word.

"Like I'm possessed?"

"Yes."

"Has it occurred to you that maybe I am?"

His expression froze for half a second before he looked angrier than before. "What is that meant to mean? Is weird shit happening again? The thing in the woods?" I didn't answer and he stood up and began pacing. "Fuck! Tell me what I'm meant to do here!"

"I don't fucking know!" I yelled. "I don't know! I have no clue what to tell you. I have no clue what to do! All I know is that I'm trying my hardest to deal with this shit, and it's like it won't let me go." I gestured angrily to the enormous windows, out into the darkness, "and doing something. _Anything._ I'm going crazy doing nothing. It's hanging on me, like an enormous, heavy fog and I am slowly coming undone!"

"It's not your fucking responsibility, Michonne," he ground out. "You can't save the world."

"You think I don't know that?" I said, shaking my head slowly. I sighed and pinched the bridge of my nose. "I don't even have to do anything, and people drop dead like flies around me. I can't save shit."

"That's not what I meant," he said coming to a standstill. He sighed too. "So, tell me, what would you do if you were to do something?" I didn't have an answer for that. Rick lifted his hands in defeat and retreated to the kitchen. He returned a few minutes later, pressing a cup of warm tea into my hand.

I took a sip, set the mug down and I slowly stepped out of the plastic tub, careful to shake off the extra drips.

"I'm going to have a hot shower, change into clean pajamas and then Noah and I are sleeping at your place tonight."

"But…" he said. I shot him a severe look silencing him. "Yeah, sure..." he finished lamely.

"I want you. You want me. I'm done overthinking it tonight and you have a book to write." I stood on tip-toes and kissed him as fiercely as I could muster before marching upstairs.

Later, I was curled up in his bed feeling toasty and listening to the click-clack of Rick typing beside me. His forehead was pinched with concentration, the screen reflected on his glasses. He felt my gaze on him and his rapid-fire typing quietened.

"I like seeing you like this," he said.

"Oh?" I returned his smile.

"Looking at home in my bed. Your hair sprawled out. In your sexiest nightwear."

I laughed. I was wearing red plaid pajamas that were very baggy, worn and loved. "Don't tease," I said.

"Never." Roaming fingers reached out and undid the top two buttons of the flannel shirt. "See? Sexy."

"I suppose the next thing you'll be saying is how motivating it is too."

"Well, it is true, although I wouldn't be truly motivated for a few more buttons…" I swatted his fingers away.

"My shirt is staying on, thank you."

"A shame." He shook his head. "But, I'm pretty sure I have inspiration on my phone from last month." He began patting around his nightstand and I grabbed for his arms frantically, until we were both bellies laughing. It was one thing for me to send nude photos, and quite another to be reminded of them. He ended up placing his laptop and lap desk on the floor, but I grabbed his hand before he could remove his glasses too.

"Leave them on," I said, biting my lip.

"You like them, do you?" His brow arched provocatively.

"You betcha." To show him just how much, I unbuttoned my shirt the rest of the way.


	28. Let The Games Begin

Maggie called me first thing in the morning, dragging me from my sleep. Rick slept through the buzzing of my cell, little wonder, after our romp in the bed he'd stayed up until the early hours writing.

"Get your ass outta bed, Jones." Maggie's voice barked through the phone. "We've finally got a day without the feds crawling across the station."

"Huh?" It was about as eloquent as I got first-thing without coffee.

"Agent Dick-face and Suck-up locked the room and went back to the city. They're going back for some bureaucratic paper shuffling and won't be back for a few days… Edna, my amazing coroner who is also a forensic anthropologist confirmed that four of the skulls are our missing girls. I've called in all departments in the entire state and requested all missing case files with female victims between the age of 14 and 25. According to Edna, 14 to 25 is the general age of all the skulls. It could take years to match them all, some of the skulls are so old, we may never find out who they were."

"Why do you want me there?"

"I have a spare key, of course. Heath's comin' in on his day off. Oscar and Lonnie are manning the station for the day, so we can just focus. We've got all the pieces here, Chonne. I feel it. Let's crack it while they're gone."

"Maggie…" I sat up a little and rubbed my eyes blearily. "I shouldn't be involved."

"Want me to deputize you?"

"Oh my God," I hissed, turning away from Rick so I wouldn't wake him. "Don't be crazy! This is not some Western novella."

"Yeah - but you know the ins-and-outs of this case almost as well as I do."

"Not really! Not enough to warrant you going all vigilante! I'm sure the FBI uncovered more since they stepped in."

She snorted loudly. "Not hardly. There's some extra forensic evidence. They've shaken down a few locals. They're fumbling through this as much as I was."

"You weren't fumbling, Maggie." I sighed and looked over at the alarm clock. 7:25 am. Good Lord! "Okay. I'm not even going to speak about the legal implications of doing this. If you get in trouble for this, you're not even to breathe my name. You hear me? I'm having a shower before I leave, and I expect breakfast waiting for me."

"Done." Maggie hung up.

I rolled out of bed and shuffled downstairs to the kitchen, building the fire back up and filling up a bowl of kibble for Noah from the pack I kept in Rick's pantry. I stood out on the patio while he did his business at the edge of the yard. It was a little harder to keep an eye on him from Rick's deck with the steep incline of the land, but he came bounding back up to me a moment later. I dressed quietly and left Rick a note, wondering if he'd want to meet me for lunch in town. I didn't want to distract him from his writing-roll.

Maggie had a breakfast burrito and hot coffee waiting for me when I arrived. Heath was already in the briefing room, dressed in plain clothes, his head buried in some files.

"You better fill me in on what's been happening," I said as Maggie closed the door behind us. Heath looked up and nodded at me before returning to his work.

We joined him at the table and Maggie opened her laptop for me. "Forensics reports," she explained. "All four appear to have suffered blunt force trauma to the back or side of the head. The coroner said it's almost certainly the cause of death. Although, she can't say for sure without the rest of the body. Maybe he hit them to knock them out and then asphyxiated them. Either way, the blows would've been enough to kill them if left long enough."

"Holy shit." In my mind, I saw Kathi's wide innocent eyes filled with fear. Their grim acceptance as the steps sounded across the floor.

"I know," Maggie murmured quietly. She took a deep fortifying breath and moved through tabs on the screen, bringing up more documentation. "In terms of trace evidence, there wasn't a whole lot to salvage from the remains of clothing, some carpet fibers…" She enlarged an image of the bottom of a shoe with a smear of light grey color across the edge of the sole.

"What is that?"

"Paint, according to forensics. Car paint, most likely. Waiting for further analysis for confirmation."

"From whose shoe?"

"Dana Logan."

The silver appeared as a swipe like a shoe had somehow skidded against wet paint, though it appeared smooth.

"It looks weird. You'd think if it was wet paint it would have dried messily when she'd try to walk on it."

"It could be nothing. And it's not from wet paint. It might not even be because of the crime."

"No. Definitely wasn't left there by wet paint. It looks like she's skidded her boot across something," Heath said, leaning over to look at the screen.

"She would've had to skid her foot damn hard to leave paint behind on the sole of her shoe," Maggie said, chewing her lip thoughtfully.

"Maybe she was struggling and kicked the car? Who had a grey car back then?"

Maggie snorted. "Who didn't would be an easier question to answer. Dad's truck is this color, Chonne. It's the most common paint color."

I tried to think back. Who owned a silver car? I could barely remember anyone's car from the 90s.

"Phillip had a maroon Chevy. Barry was getting around in his parent's white van. Then there are the others the FBI have questioned – Shumpert, Milton, Axel, Aiden, Paul, Spencer, Gareth, even old Martinez. Eugene had a silver pickup, we're in the process of getting a warrant once the forensic tech comes back tomorrow with the feds. He's still got it out the back of his place under a tarp."

"Eugene?" I asked. "Do they think he's involved?"

"Well, his alibi leaves a lot to be desired," Maggie said.

"But so, do most of theirs," Heath cut in. "Who can remember what they did on four specific dates twenty years ago?"

"What about Phillip?"

"Why do you ask?" Maggie replied cautiously.

"I saw him yesterday." She stared at me hard and I stared straight back.

"There's nothing there," she said. "He's innocent."

"I could have told you that."

"Except gut feelings aren't enough to rule out suspects. And not enough for you to say, 'I told you so' I still don't think he's a Southern Gentleman, ugh."

"You know damn well it was nothing to do with that." We both gave each other dirty looks until Maggie's lips twitched and we both started laughing, breaking the tension.

We sifted through piles of reports and evidence until lunch. Heath was busy chasing up the warrant, hoping to get it expedited before forensics returned, although, according to Maggie, Judge Otis Taylor was next to impossible to contact on his days off barring an emergency.

Maggie walked with me down to the diner to grab our lunch order, the both of us walking faster as snow started steadily falling again.

"So, things are good with you and Rick?"

"Oh, yeah. They're good."

"You gonna tell me what happened there?"

"Dysfunctional relationship with his ex-wife. He thought he'd offend my sense of morality by telling me."

Yes, I was oversimplifying it, but it was true enough.

"OMG." She shook her head in disbelief. "Men." I made a sound of resigned agreement. "What a doofus...You sure he's divorced?"

"What do you think?" I asked, smirking.

"I think your control freak ass would've checked for court documents the second after he told you."

"Damn straight. He is 100% divorced."

Maggie chuckled, and we grabbed our meals. Soup and subs to go. We walked back the way we came.

"How do you suppose Aaron came to know Rick was married?" Maggie asked thoughtfully. She was engulfed in her winter sheriff's jacket, a knitted brown beanie embroidered with the Sheriff's department logo pulled low over her forehead making her appear sterner than usual.

I opened my mouth to answer but found I didn't have any. "I… I don't know. I hadn't even thought about it. And why would he bring it up with you specifically?" Rick and Aaron were friends, so I guess Rick might've said something to him about it, but then surely Aaron would've known Rick was divorced.

"Beats me. I was arranging to meet him for questioning and he just came out of nowhere asking if I knew."

"It's not like Aaron to stick his nose in other's business," I said. But he'd done it more than once – asking that pointedly uncomfortable question about Rick's future at the New Year's Eve party while I was standing right there. "Maybe he was trying to warn me off, Rick..."

"Or cause trouble." Maggie chewed her lip and simply shrugged when I shared a questioning look with her.

"But why? Aaron's not a troublemaker." I'd have to ask Rick. I knew he was better friends with Aaron than I was these days.

"Maybe he's carrying a torch for you?" she teased. "You guys did spend those summers together, with you in that little yellow bikini."

"Oh, shut your mouth, Maggie. I was barely 18." A burn prickled my cheeks still, I had harbored a crush for him back in the day, even though there was a good seven years difference between us… And he was my supervisor. I never suspected he returned my feelings. He was pretty caught up on Michelle during those years.

The afternoon crawled along fruitlessly. I totally got the sense that Maggie had. There was a missing piece. We could all feel it. Heath let out a stressed groan and slammed his laptop closed.

"This is ridiculous. We're not getting anywhere. Otis is unreachable and we're just wasting our time reviewing the same stuff over and over."

"Got a better idea?" Maggie shot back. Heath stood and pulled his coat on, snatching his sandwich from the table. In civilian clothes, he looked almost personable.

"Yeah, I do."

Ten minutes later, three of us stood on King Avenue, bracing against the bitter cold looking up and down the street. It was the street where Dana Logan was last seen riding her bike some twenty years earlier. We walked its length, our frigid fingers stuffed into coat pockets, snow falling lightly. Maggie and I scanned the street ahead and around us, Heath walking slowly backward. We were trying to get a feel of what Dana would have seen, what might've gone through her mind that night.

"What do you think?" I asked Maggie.

"Tony Armstrong lived there, he saw her riding on this side of the road," she said, gesturing along the path. "I think if she was riding she would've only slowed if she spotted someone coming her way. She'd be less inclined to stop riding and talk to someone if they were approaching her from behind."

"She'd slow or stop if it was someone familiar approaching her head on," Heath said.

"Coming from that way toward her." Maggie pointed down Woodbury Ave. The road led straight to the entrance of the park.

"It was about 9 pm, right?" I asked.

"Uh-huh," Heath said, looking down at his notes.

"Mid-summer, the sun sets about 8:30-9ish."

"That could be significant," Heath said, writing it in his notebook. A car passed, and both officers raised their hands in the automatic small-town wave. Less a greeting, more an ingrained habit of acknowledgment all townsfolk did.

"What time did your lifeguard shifts finish in summer, Chonne?"

"Um…" I thought back. "Around nine, I think. Sometimes earlier if it was quiet. Most day-trippers would be out of the water for a while by then, but we had to organize the lifeguard shed, pack our stuff away. But Dana went missing years before I ever worked the lake. Could've been different then." The lifeguard shed served as the first aid area and equipment storage unit. It also had a sink and simple amenities for our shift breaks.

"Eugene was a supervising lifeguard then too," Heath said.

"Whoever was supervising would be the last to lock-up and leave," I said.

"So, let's say Eugene finished up his shift. Drives his silver pickup down the road, picks up Dana, maybe willingly…" Heath began.

"Or against her will, if it was dark enough," I finished. "She kicks the car in her struggle, smearing the paint on her shoe."

"No," Maggie said, shaking her head. "There's no way she could kick it hard enough in a struggle to leave behind an impression of paint on her shoe like that." She walked over to the white police cruiser and pressed her foot as hard as she could along the bumper. It squealed and squeaked as it slid downward. Heath and I crouched to examine the bottom of Maggie's shoe. It was stain-free. "I don't think paint could smear off like that unless it was caused by strong, sustained pressure over a period of time," she said.

"Okay..." I said. "Maybe she managed to do it if she was tied up in the back of his pickup."

"But why would she be pressing so hard against the inside of the pickup tray?" Heath said. "That makes no sense."

"What if she was trapped in the trunk of someone's car?" Maggie asked suddenly. She held out her hands and Heath tossed her the keys. She popped the trunk of the police cruiser and we looked inside the lid of the trunk door. It was lined with black plastic.

"I don't think I've ever seen the inside of a car trunk painted the same color as the car," I said. "It's normal plastic or that heavy duty carpet they use to line the bottom of trunks."

Maggie checked her watch. "C'mon, let's go back. I'll stop by Big T's garage on the way home and see if he knows of any specific make or model that has paint inside of the trunk door."

We parted ways that afternoon, the three of us smiling and energized. It was a weak lead, but it was something.

I used Rick's spare key to let myself in through his front door. I was surprised to find him standing at the stove in his kitchen, beer in hand, music blaring… something by The Ramones.

Noah trotted over to his from around the corner, his woodfire warmed body slinking against my thigh. I gave my little boy an idle pat and snuck up behind Rick wrapping him in a tight hug from behind.

"Hey, you."

He didn't answer, simply spun around and dipped me into a toe-curling kiss. He pulled away and smirked at my breathless reaction.

"I finished the first draft," he said.

"Get out!" I thumped his chest in excitement and he brought me back to rights. "We gotta celebrate!"

"Mm… Yes, I definitely deserve congratulations." He began nuzzling my neck, hands unbuttoning my coat searching for bare skin beneath layers. I looked around his shoulder following the smell of something enticing and saw the enormous pot of chili bubbling away.

"Don't tell me you're beginning to meal prep."

He chuckled a low sound that reverberated through my shoulder and straight to the juncture between my legs. I moaned a pleasant reply and he followed up the chuckle with a series of nips and kisses.

"I was talking to Aaron earlier and he and Erica are coming over for dinner." He explained this as his mouth trailed up towards my ear.

"Oh." I wasn't sure how I felt about that.

Rick wandered to the fridge and retrieved a beer for me. "Thirsty?"

"You bet." He opened the beer and then lifted me up onto the kitchen counter, stepping solidly between my thighs. I took the beer from his hand and we smiled at each other for a moment. "So, what now?" I hooked my legs around the back of his.

"I still need to tweak it a little before I submit it. Then lots of back and forth work between me and the editor."

"No, I mean…" I studied at his chest, trailing a finger around the button of his blue flannel shirt. "I mean, when do you go back?"

He lifted my chin with a finger, his brow pinched. "You think I'm planning on ditching you?"

"What? No," I said. "Definitely not. It's not ditching. We are … what we are. We each came to the lake for a reason." I flashed him what I hoped was a light-hearted smile. "And you've finished what you came here to do."

"…We are what we are?" His words took on a hard edge.

"You know what I mean." I lifted my hands and huffed. "Neither of us live here. We're temporary neighbors. We both have our own lives to go back to."

He leaned back. "Is that how you see us? Neighbors, that just screw around?"

"That's not what I said. You're taking my words out of context."

"Then please, go ahead – explain the context." He stepped all the way back and folded his arms. I silently cursed myself for even bringing up the question. I was so not in the mood for this conversation.

I sighed and placed the beer down onto the counter. "You can't tell me you didn't know there was an expiration date when it came to us."

"Maybe I believed that initially. But this is more than a simple fling." His expression dared me to challenge him.

"That hardly changes the circumstances. New York and Atlanta. We live, like, fourteen hours and two flights away from one another. Whatever we are or aren't doesn't change those facts."

"Whatever we are or aren't?" he said incredulously, his eyes flashing with anger and hurt. "Don't make out what we have is less significant than it is."

"And don't make us out to be more than we can be!"

"What's stopping us? What's the worst scenario here? We live happily ever after?"

"Rick…"

"No, really - what? What's the harm in trying? I have a few more months here on my lease, we can give it a trial run. I can probably extend my lease until summer or me -"

"Enough!" I cried. "What are you aiming for?! Why are you trying to force this? Can't we just…?" I gestured between us. Couldn't we just rewind and continue what we were doing a minute ago? When were we still cuddling and possibly about to engage in kitchen foreplay?

"I don't want to force anything – but we need to talk about it." He shook his head in frustration, the hair I'd swept from his forehead falling free. "I want us to be on the same page. I see you, Michonne. I know you feel the way I do. Even if you deny it to yourself. You feel something too. You're hiding from yourself."

I shook my head too and pinched my lips shut. He stepped close again, so close I was forced to look up to meet his gaze. We were almost nose to nose.

"I'm falling in love with you," he said. My expression and heart dropped with dreadful timing.

"No," I whispered in horror, my vision clouding with tears. "You're not allowed to do that." I pushed him away and hopped off the bench. "You're not allowed to do that. You can't say that to me."

I walked away but he clasped my arm. "Is that so bad? Is it so awful if I love you?" I wrenched my arm free.

"Yes! It is!"

"Then maybe I was wrong about you." His gaze hardened, and his hand fell away. It was like a door swiftly closing between me and his emotions. My discomfort morphed quickly to panic.

"I can't… I can't." My hands lifted in a lost, meaningless gesture. "We were meant to be risk-free. This was meant to be risk-free. I can't..." Words failed me and a tear slipped down my cheek. I swiped it away on the sleeve of my coat.

"You can't what? What do you mean risk-free?"

"I can't do this! Us."

"Why the hell not? What is so awful about us that you can't even entertain the notion of us having a future?"

We stood across from one another, my mouth drying up, The Ramones playing on loudly. He growled in frustration and stalked over to his Bluetooth speaker, switching it off, the silence a sudden stark contrast.

"There's not enough left of me to break again, Rick," I said quietly. "I won't survive it."

"You think I'm going to break your heart?"

I let out of low, humorless chuckle looking past him out the window. I couldn't expect him to get it. He approached me and though I refused to meet his gaze, he pulled me into his arms. He held my stiff form tight against him, keeping me in place, enveloping me in his scent. I bit my lip until it pinched with pain. God, he was so warm and comforting. A soft sob escaped from me.

"You're going to die one day, Rick."

The steady rise and fall of his chest briefly faltered.

"Is that what this is about?" I pressed my face into his shirt, unwilling to respond. "Oh, Michonne…"

We remained that way for countless minutes, his hands holding me firmly to him, my shoulders shaking with quiet sobs. I tried my hardest to pull it together. But the admission was as painful as the fear itself.

"I won't die for a long time," he said finally. "A long, long time." He rested his cheek against the top of my head, his fingers gently tracing along the nape of my neck.

"You can't promise that."

"No one can. But I'm not exactly in a dangerous career. I'm healthy. I live a very safe life. What could I possibly die from? Death by papercut?" Despite it all, I laughed quietly, and I felt his smile against the crown of my head.

We kissed and this time when his hands slipped under the layers of my clothing I helped him along, unbuttoning my coat the rest of the way and then working my fingers lifting his shirt over his head. I needed the feel of his skin against mine. I just needed him.

We didn't stop kissing as he lifted me back onto the counter, our clothes gathering in a pile on the floor. I loved the feel of his lips on mine, of the sure path his hands trailing across my body, of his body under my own fingers. I struggled out of my jeans and he grinned valiantly when he pulled them from my legs with one smooth motion and the pulled then shimmed out of his own jeans. Then we were kissing again, words silenced by the distractions of bare flesh. I hooked my arms around his neck and we both groaned when he finally entered me, his hands holding my hips securely. He felt so right.

"Michonne…" he whispered when our eyes met. Tears immediately sprung, my heart was raw, but I buried it all crushing my lips to his. It wasn't lost on either of us that our argument wasn't resolved and that I hadn't agreed to any sort of future together. When his hips began moving, I moaned his name in relief. He chased away any lingering thoughts that remained and, though I would never dare admit it out loud, some of my lingering doubts too.

After we managed to disentangle and clean up, I helped Rick throw together a garden salad and he set out some frozen bread rolls ready for baking when Aaron and Erica arrived. Rick was in a great mood, a skip in his step, pulling me in for the occasional kiss, singing along with the music. It was a little hard to rain on his parade. I mean, the man had just finished writing the last book on a hugely restrictive publishing contract. His carefree attitude was infectious, and I wasn't going to ruin it in any way by telling him about my grim day helping Maggie or even Aaron's weird possible-interfering with us. We'd already argued... though he seemed happy with the way things had settled between us, or maybe he was still riding that post-orgasm high. He caught me smiling from across the kitchen at him and the gorgeous grin I received in return made my stomach flip-flop. Maybe I was still riding that high too.

"Sorry, I'm late!" Aaron said, stomping the snow off his boots before coming inside at 7:45 PM. "I was waiting around for Erica to finish up, but she had to stay behind for some emergency surgery at work. She'll come up when's finished. Shouldn't be too long. I brought beers!"

"Goodman," Rick said, clapping him on the back.

"Hey, Chonne!"

"Hey, Aaron."

We ended up nursing our bowls of chili around the long and narrow coffee table in Rick's living space, while Aaron and I taught Rick the basic premise of the game Tonk. It was a card game that was played frequently on days at the lake or any time a group of us got together. Morgan, Ezekiel and a few of the older crew had devised a drinking version of the game, which made for a few outlandish nights. Rick picked it up quickly and he brought out a couple six packs of beer into the living area.

"You actually have to cheat for the game to be fun," Aaron grumbled good-naturedly, as he picked up another stack of cards after incorrectly calling my bluff for the third time.

"Oh, but I am cheating, I'm just too good. You can't tell." I winked at him.

"It's all in the profession," Rick said. I flicked the cap off my beer at him and he dodged it with a smirk.

"I'll have you know I'm the most professional lawyer you'll ever meet."

"That's not how I hear it." He cupped his hand to his mouth and leaned towards Aaron. "Watch out for flying office furniture." Aaron looked surprised and Rick burst into laughter.

"Don't listen to him, Aaron," I snipped. "Rick often gets confused. Half the time he doesn't know whether he should be checking his ass or scratching his watch." I gave Rick an over-the-top dirty look.

Aaron guffawed. "You're in for it now, Grimes. Once she lets her southern out, there's no saving you."

I smiled sweetly at Rick who pretended to duck and cover when I grabbed the empty beer from the table in front of him. I took the empty beer bottles into the kitchen, still chuckling and left them in the sink for rinsing later.

"Is Erica still comin' over?" I called out to Aaron, grabbing another round of beer for us.

I heard movement and a muffled reply from Aaron in the living room and I looked in the kitchen with a sigh. It was a Rick-level disaster zone. He left a massive destruction in his wake. I set the beers down and stacked some dishes into the dishwasher then wiped down the counter and around the stovetop where the chili had bubbled over.

The notification light on my phone blinked at me, catching my eye.

"Oh, shoot…" I muttered, picking it up. I'd left it on silent. There were three missed calls from Maggie, Ruth and oddly enough Glen, plus a bunch of text messages.

 **Voice message received Friday, January 13th at 2:45 PM**

 _'Hello Michonne, this is Ruth Horvath, Mara is back home, but she and Mae left me a plethora of information. I can't believe that everything I believed is true, you're the one!"_ she paused for a moment, _'Call me soon, I promise this will all make sense now.'_

I quickly went to the next message…

 **Voice message received Friday, January 13th at 3:15 PM**

 _'Pick up! Big breakthrough.'_

 **Voice message received Friday, January 13th at 3:25 PM**

 _'Check your voicemail. Call me ASAP.'_

 **Voice message received Friday, January 13th at 4:15 PM**

 _'Holy_ _shit, Michonne, Big T. He knew exactly what car I was talking about. Apparently, there's only one model of car that has exposed paint on the underside of the trunk door. He remembers working on it! The Mustang, specifically the '78 Mustang. And who do we know that used to drive a silver '78 Mustang…?'_

I gasped as the message went on, Maggie talking about not being able to wait for the agents. Going out to investigate it more before heading home. I looked up as Aaron sauntered into the kitchen with an easy grin on his face, he held a stack of the dinner bowls and plates in his hands. I tried to swallow down the thick brick of fear that had formed in my throat.

 _'Michelle Suber. Michelle drove a silver' 78 Mustang. That car was her true love… along with Aaron Ross.'_

"Need some help in here?" Aaron asked cheerfully, placing the dishes in the sink.

"Nope, all good." I smiled brightly back at Aaron, my stomach turning over. "Just checking my voicemail."

I turned the volume down as the next message played on. I nervously began wiping the counter again. Aaron eyed me curiously and started rinsing the dishes.

 **Voice message received Friday, January 13th at 7:05 PM**

 _'Hi, Chonne. It's Glenn. Have you heard from Maggie? She was supposed to be home hours ago and no one at the station has heard anything. Gimme a callback.'_

 **End of message. To erase the message press 7, to...**

I pulled the phone from my ear, hastily pressing 9 to return the call as Aaron stepped to my side.

"Everything okay, Chonne?" he asked calmly. He took the phone from my hand and set it on the counter. I backed away a step.

"It's fine, Aaron, really," I said, picking up the beers again. My heart started thudding and I stepped further away from him still, back towards the living area. "Let's play another round! Make the most of Rick's big night."

"Not sure if Rick's really in the mood to play anymore." Aaron moved closer to me. "He's feeling a bit sleepy."

"What do you mean?" I brushed past him into the living room, where Rick was slumped in a heap on the floor. I cried out and crouched to his side. Rick shifted and mumbled something, his eyelids fluttering. "Wake up!" I slapped his cheek and he groaned, brushing me away.

Aaron took my arm gently, tugging me up to my feet again. He tried to stroke my cheek, but I pushed his hand away angrily.

"What did you do to him?!"

Aaron gave a slight shrug, his demeanor and disposition still calm and collected. "He's enjoying the best high of his life, probably. He should wake up in a few hours… Or not. Fentanyl can be a bit of a dice roll. Especially considering I grabbed the largest vial I could find from Erica's office." He chuckled. "Benefits of having a veterinarian for a wife!"

"What…" I gasped, clapping a hand over my mouth. I moved again to tend to Rick, but Aaron tightened his grasp of my arm, not letting me go.

"Don't cry, Chonnie," he said. "It's better like this, anyway. This way he won't interrupt us." He moved so close I could feel his breath on my face, see the pattern of freckles scattered across his nose. I cringed away from him. "I've always had a thing for you." His free hand grasped my breast painfully and I choked out a cry. "But we were too close. Too connected. Even drunk Bob would've asked too many questions of me if you up and disappeared back then."

"No, Aaron. Don't do this. Please…" I whimpered, pulling his hand away from me.

"I'll be gentle, Chonne." He brought his mouth close to my ear. "At least to start with."

Horror and adrenaline hit me like a lightning strike. I pushed him away with a cry and all my strength, scrambling past him toward the front door. I pulled a dining chair out behind me to trip him up and the coat rack next, my hands fumbling over the latch on the door. I stumbled outside in only my socks, Noah barking from somewhere inside.

"Noah!" I gasped, spinning on the spot just in time to see Aaron launch himself at me. He collided with me hard, pinning me to the ground. Then he laughed. A wild and unnatural laugh, so unlike his usual carefree chuckle.

"Nuh-uh-uh…" he crooned. "Tonight, you're going home with me, baby."

"No!" I cried, before letting out a blood-curdling scream. I took aim and kicked him square between the legs. There were hardly any neighbors all the way out here, but I'd damned well try my best to make sure they heard me. Aaron groaned and pulled himself up, slapping me hard across the face.

"Enough!" He grabbed me hard by the throat. "Don't make me sedate you too, I'll enjoy it more if you're awake."

"Please…help me!" I twisted under Aaron's hand, scanning the dark trees. But all I could see were stars in the sky.

Aaron dragged me to his car, pulling me roughly into the cab and snarled angrily when I tried to twist out of his grasp. His face, the one that was always so charming and sweet was unlike anything I'd ever seen before. The façade was gone. His eyes and features were emotionless, full of cold concentration.

"Where's Maggie?" I rasped in the final moment before duct tape was placed over my mouth.

"You'll soon see." He zip-tied my hands and buckled me in.

He'd sat me up in the front seat of his work truck and he hopped in beside me, starting the engine calmly. Like it was any old day. Like he was giving me a ride to the store.

When we got to the top of my driveway, he turned right heading further into the woods, rather than left towards town. I twisted in my seat, watching the red taillights illuminate the rapidly disappearing familiar landscape. I slumped against the window, shying away from his hand as he gave my thigh a friendly squeeze.

"Don't you worry your pretty little head," he said. "Tonight will be fun. We'll worship together." He turned on the stereo, turning the channel to some local station. Dirks Bentley began crooning through the speakers. A small sob managed to escape, muffled through the duct tape.

We drove further through the hills on Little Blue Road and turned off to the right into an almost unseen road. One of the old hiking trails, I realized. It was crowded with pines, the road barely graveled and still patchy with snow. The road wound through the forest in the national park, coming around towards the eastern part of the lake. He parked the car behind a large stand of trees and dragged me out from my seat.

"We walk now," he said, pointing out into the dark. "Not far. There's someone waiting for you."

Aaron towed me along by the elbow, my socked feet slipping over the snow. He led us confidently onward into the night. I was barely able to take stock of my surroundings before he began whistling the tune from the car. I stared blindly into darkness; my brain, heart, and mind hardly able to reconcile what the fuck had happened in the space of the last twenty minutes. God. Was Rick dead? I squeezed away from the tears through my eyes, wiping them against my shoulder, trying to calm myself, calm my breathing. It was hard practically jogging next to Aaron with my mouth taped shut.

"Whatcha so worried for, Chonnie?" Aaron asked. "Keep breathing like that and you'll pass out, seen it before."

I snarled at him as best I could. I'll make damned sure he knows that I was not going to go down without an almighty fight.

"C'mon, beautiful. Not like you haven't been here before."

I stumbled a little at his words. The chill creeping through my aching toes swept higher with a sudden rush. He was right. I knew where we were. I knew where this lakeside path led. I knew exactly where we were going. This was where I was sleeping walking to the previous night.

The lifeguard-hut.

That room… That basement… My dream with Kathi, it was all in the basement workshop of the hut. How had I not recognized it? How had I not realized? A fresh round of tears sprung, and my breathing became truly ragged. I'd probably only been down to the workshop all once maybe, some fifteen years ago. But still… I should've recognized that mildewed smell! Recognized the tools and the items strewn around. I should have remembered harder! Tried harder.

Aaron chuckled grimly at my realization and by the time we reached the wooden structure set inside the tree line, just past the rocky beach of the lake, his fingers were clasping me with a bruising ferocity.

The hut was long abandoned now, thanks to the new lifeguard station built nearby some years earlier but somehow this old one was still locked. Aaron retrieved a key from his pocket, unlocking the thick chain that held the double doors shut. He pushed me inside the hut into the dark and then down the creaky wooden steps to the basement area. A small lantern was lit in the corner, the glow of its pale blue LEDs washing out the room. Maggie was slumped in the corner, unconscious. Aaron pushed me to the ground and I scrabbled across on my knee to Maggie, immediately pressing my ear to her chest. I wept with relief at the steady thump of her heart. Maggie mumbled, shifting under me.

Aaron grabbed the back of my hair and tore off the tape. I let out a strangled cry.

"I've never done this in the middle of winter," he said, with a chilling grin. His eyes shone in the pale light, the shadows across his face menacing. He pressed a rough kiss to my lips and I twisted my face away from him. He chuckled. "You wait here, gorgeous. I've got some things to organize… then...let the games begin." He stroked my chin, eyes, soulless eyes, still trained on my mouth. I squeezed my eyes shut again, suppressing the moan that threatened to rise unbidden.

His booted footsteps marked his departure up the stairs and across the floor above it. I twisted around to face Maggie.

"Maggie!" I whispered into her ear, nudging her stomach with a knee. "Wake up! Maggie… Please wake up!"

She mumbled my name and blinked blearily at me before her eyes rolled back into her head.

"Lord, please help me…" Had she been drugged too? A trickle of blood ran from her forehead, her eye swollen shut. Did he beat her?

I shuffled across the room on my knees, damp seeping into my jeans, my nose curling from the stale, mildewed scent. The old floral couch was still in its place across from me, though I could barely see it across the room. The lantern light was pitiful. I shuffled to the lantern and looked around. I needed to find a way out of here. The bench across the wall that had once displayed the tools, the cabinets, the bike in the corner. I crouched down, grabbing the handle of the lantern with my teeth and lifted it. I had no use of my hands, but I could be resourceful. I leaned against the wall beside the settee and slowly propped myself back up to my feet. I walked along the old wooden bench. Empty. I lifted my head, illuminating the wall behind it. Empty, save the sharpened outline that once denoted which tool went where. The room was essentially empty. The tools removed from their hooks above the workshop table, the couch even more dilapidated than it had been then.

Shit.

I swiveled back around and shuffled over to the couch. A dark lump lay there. Maybe Aaron left a bag of things? Something I could use to break my bindings? I drew closer, peering down at the lump. I let out a bloodcurdling scream; the lantern dropped from my mouth.

The dark lump took shape under the falling light and the lantern thudded onto the couch. Slim shoulders, long pale arms, legs curled under. Blood. Blood everywhere. Thick and coating the cushions in an enormous dark stain. My eyes traveled higher up the woman's body; I wanted to look away, but I couldn't. I had to see who it was. I moaned, the sound protracted, unnaturally deep. She was decapitated, her head sitting up at an impossible angle inches away from her body, curly blonde hair spread around her. Erica! I turned, and the contents of my stomach promptly evacuated themselves across the cement floor. It was the beer and dinner Rick had made; it burned coming up. I heaved a few more times, sobbing as I did. Hot unwanted tears seeped from my eyes. Did I just see what I just saw? My God, I couldn't bear to turn and check again. But I couldn't deny. Not even my imagination was twisted enough to visualize that image in as much graphic detail as I had just seen it. The serrated edges of flesh, the blood, and bone, the slack of her jaw. Her glassy eyes. I shuffled away, leaving the mess on the ground and the blood coated lantern on the couch. I couldn't bear to take the lantern, not coated in blood.

The girls… All of them… was this their fate? Was this Maggie? …Mine?

Poor Erica. I hardly knew her, but she seemed sweet. Young. Like the girls. She looked so young. So much younger than her age. I wanted to vomit all over again. Was that why Aaron found her so attractive? Was that why he killed all the girls? A fucked-up psychopath with an awful perversion. A sick, sad predator who tortured and murdered young girls in a manner most horrible. What had he done to them before they died?! I shuffled back to Maggie and buried my face into her chest, between the folds of her coat. I began crying, soft pathetic whimpers. The horror poured out of me. Their lives, shortened by an awful, awful end. It wasn't fair. How could one person be so cruel? How could God allow this to happen?

The steady, relaxed thumping of Maggie's heartbeat continued, like a backing track to my cries. It served to ground me. The tears eased off and I drew a long shaky breath in and out. Then another. And another.

It wouldn't have to end like this for Maggie and me. Nothing was set in stone. There was still a chance I wouldn't have to die. We wouldn't have to die. Maggie promised this community to solve this. To find the perpetrator. And she had found him. I took another deep breath. I guess it was up to me to help her see her promise to fruition.

I heard the heavy thud of footsteps above and my fear ratcheted anew. I left Maggie and quietly crept across the floor to the dark corner. The air was frigid, my breath releasing in clouds of white mist, and with every step, I heard from above, the cold vice of inevitability seemed to close tighter, squeezing me, whispering to me… It forced the surreal away, landing me squarely in reality.

I practically lunged for the corner when I reached it, sobbing in relief and disappointment. Relief as Aaron's footsteps preceded a loud thud of the hut's door shutting behind him, he must've been going outside to get the whatever he needed ready.

"Fuck!" I shuffled further into the dark nook. Maybe I could find something. Anything that could help me. I bumped into something cool and metallic. I palmed it as best I could from behind with my zip-tied hands. Long hard tubing with smooth ridges, a gnarled lump. Too dark to see. My fingers traveled higher. Exposed thread from where a bolt had once been screwed. It was rough. Rough enough to wear against my plastic restraints. I worked furiously, rubbing and twisting my hands. The plastic was heating, I could smell the friction of it against the metal it was working against. The edge thinned but didn't tear, so I worked harder.

"C'mon… c'mon, C'mon," I whispered. "Shit." The plastic rubbing into the tender flesh inside my wrists, leaving them raw.

There was no more movement from above. There was still time to find something else. I crept back to Maggie. She remained unconscious, and now her eyelids were no longer fluttering. Her breathing was shallow but steady. I patted her down. She had nothing on her. I took stock of the room again, trying to avoid the remains festering on the couch. Something glinted in the dim light there, though. In Erica's hair. A clip.

I can only think it was pure survival instincts that led me to drag myself back to the couch. Back to the grisly remains of what was once a vibrant, young woman. With my back to her and with trembling hands, I removed the silver clip from Erica's blood-matted hair. I dropped it to the ground and picked it up with my teeth. The clip was free of blood, thank the Lord, and was the utilitarian kind, rather than pretty and delicate. The sort of clip hairdressers used to pin portions of their client's hair out of the way; the sort of clip a busy, career-focused veterinarian used to keep her tresses out of the way while she performed surgery. The clip with pronged, the top side smooth, the bottom serrated. I sat down and worked the serrated edge against the tie until it eventually gave and snapped. How much time had passed? Minutes, maybe less? I leaped to my feet, crossing the room to gather Maggie from the floor into my arms.

"Maggie, you gotta wake up." I patted her cheek gently. She murmured, her cheek falling gently against her shoulder. Fuck. I'd bet Rick was currently in a similar state. Maybe worse. Shit! I left her and crossed the room and up the steps to gently try the door. The handle hand no lock. The door from the inside no visible locking mechanism. But I knew, I just knew that there was a rusted garden gate bolt on the other side holding it shut. I couldn't recognize the room worth a damn in my dreams, but this obscure fact still somehow resided from all those years ago. The door wouldn't budge. I pushed against it, the wood creaking.

I pressed my shoulder against the central panel of the door, where the wood was thinnest. The top layer of timber splintered under my pressure, dry and brittle. Years of damp and then the whole hut abandoned; everything was falling the bits. I could bust through it, I just needed enough-

I heard the stomp of feet above and I leaped back, bumping hard down a few of the stairs and scrambling the rest of the way down until I reached Maggie. I panted, hardly able to hear over the gasp of my own breath, over the rush adrenalin pounding through me, poised and waiting for his steps to continue toward the top of the stairs and the door to open. My head darted back and forth assessing the room, keeping my eye on the stairs. I needed to gain some sort of advantage before he came down. One thing is for sure, I was never one to sit around on my hands.

I felt Maggie behind me. She was still unconscious, thankfully breathing. I patted her pockets but they felt empty; no sign of a shoulder holster under her burly department issue coat, either. Goddamit! I got back to my feet and went through the motions as I had in some of my dreams… I scanned the floors, the corners of the room… the workshop table. There was nothing.

The footsteps began again, my heart jolting into my throat. No! I needed another minute! It was too late. I heard the latch come undone and in a split-second decision, I dived for the floor, grabbing the snapped zip-tie from where it lay. It was the only bit of anything I could find in this damned room. The door squeaked open and I dived back to Maggie, back where Aaron had originally left me.

He was smiling as he descended step by creaky step. I kept my hands firmly clasped behind my back as if still restrained, and I forced myself to meet his gaze. His eyes, I thought I was seeing things, but his eyes are no longer bright and blue, from iris to sclera, his eyes are pitch black. His feet reached the basement floor with an awful, final stomp.

"Ready?" he asked.


	29. Heads Will Roll

I looped the plastic zip-tie between my fingers, holding it firmly against my wrist, then pressed my wrist firmly against my back. It needed to look like I was still restrained. It wasn't perfect, if Aaron looked hard enough he'd notice it wasn't tight like before.

"So, is this where you did it?" I asked him… Trying to stall whatever it was he wanted me to be ready for.

"Her?" He gestured casually with his shoulder to Erica's body. "Didn't kill her here… But her head?" He clenched his fist and ran his thumb slowly across his throat. "Oh, yes. That happened here, one interesting feature is the notch near the grip, it directs the blood away so that the handle doesn't get we so my hands never slip. I haven't ruined a uniform yet. Best of all, the head always comes off with one stroke." He wagged his eyebrows at me.

My blood ran cold. "And… me?"

He cooed and closed the space between us until we were inches apart, nose to nose. He stroked my cheek with the back of his thumb, the same thumb he'd just used to mimic his own girlfriend's decapitation.

"You, beautiful girl…she's right, you are different?"

I flinched. "What do you mean?" I asked, my voice barely louder than a rasp.

"Even back then there was always something between us, wouldn't you say? Then after all those years, you come back. Back to the cabin. Back to the lake. It's like… What's the word? It's not fated it's..."

"Kismet," I finished.

He nodded, the smile lifting higher. "You found our girls. You walked out into the forest and just found them. Is there any bigger sign than that?"

"It's not like that," I insisted with a shake of my head. Fear curled its roots into my chest, hollow and icy.

"You said yourself, you feel like you're being watched, I know you have seen her, my goddess, she's been watching you...We're part of something, something big. Bigger than us." He gripped the back of my neck with his hand. "This is what's meant to be."

"Have you seen the creature too?"

He chuckled. "Of course, she leads me, she keeps me, gives me everything and so she requires a sacrifice." He scooped up Erica's decapitated head and stuffed it in a duffle bag.

Maggie let out a low moan from behind us, distracting the conversation. "Come on," he said, pushing me toward the stairs. "It's time to go."

I marched one step at a time behind him, risking one last glance over my shoulder to Maggie, she remained unconscious on the mildewed floor. Aaron slammed the basement door closed once he dragged me over the threshold then pulled me across the wooden floors of the hut, his flashlight leading us to beaten double doors.

"What are you doing?" I asked. He'd set down the flashlight and picked up a rusty old gas can. I took a wide step away.

"Dealing with Maggie." He uncapped the lid and swung the can around, long streams of gasoline landing with a splash across the floor.

"Stop!" I cried.

To my surprise, he stopped. "What. Why? Oh…" He smiled knowingly. "You think I should…?" He nodded to where a crowbar and the bloodied knife laying on the floor. The knife was long, curved, serrated with intricate runic designs on the handle. the weapon was unquestionably ancient. that's what he used on Erica and the girls, that was the sacrificial knife that cut off their heads in this sick ritual of his. "I can't, the Queen doesn't want her."

Horror rang inside of me and my hands itched behind my back, itched to reach out and grab him, tackle him to the floor. But he was muscular and strong. I wasn't sure of my chances. Not when I'd seen with my own eyes what those hands of his were capable of.

"They'll know it's you," I finished lamely.

He let out a dry, humorless laugh. "They already know. That's why Maggie is down there." He splashed more gasoline.

"The FBI doesn't know."

This gave him pause, his hand holding the can in mid-air, hovering; so, I hurried to explain.

"The feds are back at the city office. Sorting out paperwork, handling the forensic side of things now that evidence has been collected. Maggie worked out it was you today. She decided to work the case solo while the feds are gone, but under the radar – it's not even her case to investigate anymore. She wouldn't have told them anything yet."

"Makes no fucking difference. She worked it out. She needs to be dealt with."

"Like Erica?"

"Erica was clueless," he said, the corners of his lips turning down in disgust. "She started questioning me about Michelle and worse of all, she wanted fucking kids. Kids!" He spat the word. "She was no good to me anymore."

"Is that what happened to Michelle too?" My horror and revulsion must've reflected on my features.

"That nosy whore Michelle found something she shouldn't have." Aaron snarled in response, grabbing me roughly by the back of my neck.

He gathered his macabre belongings, pouring a trail of gasoline behind us and pushed me outside and down to the shore of the lake. The cold waters met my frozen feet in icy greeting. I closed my eyes and tried to breathe deeply. The shore lapped all around us, the sound appallingly calm and normal against the nightmare I was living.

I tried to calm myself against the sounds of the brush of water against the pebbles. I opened my eyes with a soft gasp. This was what Kathi was begging me to listen too. It was this. If only I'd heard it and understood.

Aaron retrieved a lighter from his pocket, pulling me from my despaired thoughts, and flicked the lid open. He held it out to me.

"Want to do the honors?"

"You're fucking sick," I spat at him. He shrugged and without warning flicked the flint wheel. I screamed, a high-pitched cry I barely recognized as my own voice and launched myself at him. We collided and I latched my hands over his wrist, snuffing out any flame that may have ignited. Aaron stumbled back with a grunt and the both of us fell to the ground, water splashing at our heels, pebbles and rocks digging in from every which direction.

"Don't be fucking stupid, Michonne!" Aaron yelled, grabbing my arms trying to pin me down, but I flailed, kicking my legs, twisting as hard as I could.

I hit his hand and the lighter fell to the ground, I grabbed it and with a wide arcing over-arm throw that sent the lighter straight into the black water. It hit with a splash and disappeared. Aaron slapped me so hard my vision blurred as I fell to the ground.

"Bad move…" he snarled. He put me in a chokehold and dragged me along the shore. I choked, kicking and scuffing my feet uselessly.

"Stop it!" he grumbled and pulled me with a hard tug like I were a misbehaving dog on a leash, the pain white hot and blinding.

I hooked my hands over his calf and pulled with all my might. I cried out in triumph as Aaron tumbled forward onto his hands and knees. I wrenched myself free of him, leaping to my feet and running – running as fast as I could away from him and closer to the tree line, leaping over the sharp rocks and patches of snow that dotted along the edge the lake.

My feet caught in the roots of a tall pine, and I stumbled over myself but somehow staying upright. Finally, and for once, gravity was on my side. I propelled myself into the black of the forest. I ran behind a big pine, trying to slow my gasps, peering around to the lake shore, searching through the trees for Aaron. And there was…nothing. He was gone.

My heart pounded, an erratic drum beating through my chest and I twisted wildly in place trying to make out his figure amongst the black of the looming pines around me.

Where was he? The dark shapes of the pines stood out starkly as my eyes adjusted.

Where had he gone?!

 _'Shine your light Michonne'_ , Daryl's voice said. _'Only you can set them free '._

I was going to survive because these girls deserved justice and their family deserved answers.

 _'That's right babe, justice will be done.'_ Daryl's voice soothed me like a warm blanket.

I stepped away from the tree, toward the northern side of the lake, toward mine and Rick's cabins. It was a couple miles from here. The distant yellow lights from the dwellings on that side of the lake glowed invitingly. I could run for it. I could make it. Save Rick. Save me.

I took a step forward but hesitated. Maggie was still in that cold, dank basement. She was alive. Maybe only barely... but could I really leave her? I grasped the rough bark of the tree. It wasn't a decision. How could it be? I couldn't let my best and longest friend perish the way that Erica had… The way all those girls had…

I took one last look at the distant cabins, a wild sort of panic building. Was I cursing another loved one to die by rescuing Maggie? I stifled a ragged cry at the thought. Oh, Rick. Before the thought could crash down on me, turning me to a crying heap, I began to move. Quietly, quickly. Back toward the lifeguard hut.

I darted between trees, aiming for the patches of snow that appeared softest, my damp socks absorbing the sounds. I was edging closer to the shore, closer to that rotten structure. I paused behind a wide pine, it was old, its needles sparse and scratchy. I peered slowly around and saw nothing.

Crack.

I jumped like a startled kitten and spun toward the source of the noise. Something deep in the woods. I could see nothing. A startled animal, maybe. I turned back to continue my path.

"Ahhhhhhhh!" I screamed, Aaron stood before me, his jagged sacrificial knife in one hand. His chest rose and fell raggedly.

"Got you." He said in a deep, inhuman voice. A sound so unlike the Aaron I knew that I found myself peering intently to see if it was really him that was making the noise.

I turned and bolted, running faster than I ever thought possible. I fled head first into the woods, arms outstretched. I had no time to make out the shapes. I ran blindly. Flight instinct in action.

I ran straight into the dark between trees, zigzagging through the dark, Aaron close at my heels, my body on fire with the need to escape. I ducked under a branch but was clipped by another and I tumbled; before I could fall, a tight hand grasped my upper arm and pulled.

Aaron wrangled me roughly up against the trunk of the offending tree. I cried and twisted my head away as his face came close, his hot breath sending billowing clouds of condensation into the night air.

"Don't make us angry." He pressed the tip of the sacrificial knife to the base of my neck, just above my collarbone.

"Or what?" I whispered, not daring to look at him. "You'll cut off my head?"

He chuckled darkly, the expression on his face absolutely froze me. Pure malevolence.

"Why haven't you already?" I asked, swallowing back my fear. "Why haven't you killed me? What are you going to do to me?"

"We want to keep you, take you and make you one of us. Don't you feel it? I know you feel it. I see it in your eyes. You know what it is to touch death. The power it has. How… fucking alive you feel to hold someone's life in your hands and take it all away."

"No," I sobbed. "That's not true."

"I've had my exit well planned. I knew there was a chance someone would work it out, especially with Maggie as sheriff." He traced the knife gently against my skin. "There's a cabin waiting for us… We'll start a new life."

He pressed his lips against me then and kissed me while he held a knife to my neck, and I had no choice but to let him. His lips were wet, his tongue vile in my mouth, his free hand grasping my rear painfully tight. He pulled away with a triumphant grin like my forced submission was somehow proof that I was party to his sick plans.

I drew a deep breath. A familiar, dank and foul scent clung to the air. A hiss emerged from the darkness, slicing through the stillness of the now utterly silent woods. Aaron's eyes widened. He turned me and stared into the black forest and though I couldn't see anything, he sure as hell did.

The cracks and snaps of branches chased us, the creature making its presence known as it drew closer. The beast limped out from between the trees, so dark it was barely visible as if it were emanating the night, in the same way, the sun emanated day. I could practically feel the throb of my jugular against the lip of the serrated blade. The white snowy mist swirling and gathering around my ankles,

The entity just stood there. It felt like it was looking right at me. Right through me. Inside me. It's dark cat-like eyes illuminated a pale radiant blue and something rose within me, something ballooning from within, and I moaned, a noise so unfamiliar to me. The sound I made was not of my own volition. It didn't sound like me. It sounded like my voice… and the voices of many. An abomination of sound, the cadence off, disjointed, louder than humanly possible without screaming. The voices of many girls. All of the girls. The noise crowded my hearing, it hurt my ears. The rising feeling continued, it was like I was expanding within myself like my chest would burst like my brain would explode. There was so much inside me all at once. I had to let it out.

"Euronomus!" Aaron's voices screamed as my voices wailed. But he didn't press the knife any tighter to my neck. The terror was evident in his voice. I knew. We knew. He was too afraid to kill me. To kill us.

"You cannot kill us," my discordant multi-voice said. I spoke the words simultaneously of my own will and yet without consciously choosing to. "She is the conduit between life and death."

Aaron screamed again and I did too. I spun around, grabbing him by the arm, forcing his hand away from my neck, seizing my advantage, I pushed him to the ground. He dropped like a bowling pin, staring at me wide-eyed – I had no idea what he saw as he looked up at me. The bursting sensation within me grew.

"Surrender Maenad!" I demanded. "Fiat justitia ruat cælum."

The words escaping my mouth I had no control over but my movements were, at least, my own. I jumped on him and wrestled with all my adrenaline-fueled strength. I was so very wary of the knife in his hand, sharp and terrifying, but I fought aggressively, scratching and punching, screaming in my ungodly voice.

The profuse rage I felt washed away the horror of my circumstances, of the entire night and I was solely focused on disarming Aaron and destroying the demon. I could see her in there, she was a part of him and he of her. He summoned the evil deity, for his own toxic a perverse reason, 'the devil made me do it', was his reason, but it was Aaron, he wanted to rape, torture and beat those girls; without being held accountable. She granted his every desire, evil incarnate, his devious wishes fueled her. In turn, she devoured the flesh and entrapped the souls. It had been that way for many years, but his time was up.

A pain shot into my side like hot lava and a shark bite, I let out a grating, unnatural cry. I wrenched the blade from my side. It released from my stomach with a sick, sucking tear just as Aaron launched himself at me. I plunged the blade into his neck, He cried out and staggered backward, the shock blowing his eyes wide with terror. The knife remained in my hand.

Aaron stumbled forward, blood spilling from his neck, thick, pulsating like a geyser. I cried out in horror and pushed him away.

He collapsed backward onto the ground, his hand clasping his neck. Blood spilled profusely. It was everywhere. It puddled and pooled, spilled from between his fingers.

Aaron's body shuddered and flailed on the ground as the demon escaped her host in a thick grey, hissing mist. The entity morphed into solid form. The shapely bull-head woman in a white gown was no longer a figment of my dreams. Now, she stood menacingly before me. Her hiss turned into a roar, long beads of cloying saliva dripping from its twisted snout.

I scrambled back leaping to my feet. Aaron followed, hair disheveled, hand gripping his wounded neck, head bowed low in anger.

"What have you done?!" he gargled, his face changed from anger to sheer horror as he was confronted by all of the girls he had killed. They emerged from the dark forest and as if I were holding a flashlight pointed at each one of them, they all illuminated sheer and white as they neared me. Dozens and dozens of girls came forth with a vengeance. The wound in his neck began to tear, deeper, through the tendons and veins, and deeper right into the bone until his head was no longer attached to his neck. Simultaneously, his head and body fell unceremoniously to the ground. Aaron's eyes now stared vacantly at the night sky and I realized I was the cause, I killed him with his own sacrificial knife.

"We're free!" I heard Kathi's voice say, and then I saw her, and then Michelle, and Erica. "Thank you!" the girls cheered. I could feel their happiness, so many girls; their lives were stolen from them only to remain a prisoner in the afterlife. But they are free now, they can move on. I watched with pride as their illuminated essence floated up blending perfectly into the starlit sky.

I retreated a few steps, pawing at the wound at my abdomen. The world spun, the wind swirling and wailing through the trees. Death seemed likely now as I was standing in between two beasts, one of which I believe is on my side and the other I know for sure was not... My fingers came away from the wound coated in blood, I held up the knife in preparation of defending myself against either one of them.

"Jubilee" The Dark Prince actually spoke a word, his single word came out thick, gravelly, but clearly, he was speaking to me.

I tightly held the wound at my side, blood was seeping between my own fingers. He reached out his hand to me and Aaron's demon roared. I whipped my head to see, but it didn't make a move as I was watched it; The Dark Prince snatched the knife from my hands. I whipped my head from side to side, unknowing of what my next move or theirs would be.

"Jubilee" The Prince growled, limped past me, he drew his long monstrous arm back and with one final swipe of the knife he slit the demon woman's throat. Black liquid sprayed out of the gash in all directions until she was quickly and completely becoming covered in her own fluid. She fell to her knees, every orifice spilled with back oil. The oil was corrosive, her own essence was dissolving her into nothing. In a matter of moments, she was a smoldering, festering pool of black slime on the snowy forest ground.

A gust of wind blew and I gasped. The Dark Prince, stood within arm's reach of me, yet his scent was no longer putrid, he was no longer the malodorous beast that had stalked me at my home. He smelled like fresh rain and spring flowers at bloom. He was my watcher, my guide on this road for justice.

And then I heard it. A sound so unexpected and welcoming it snapped me away from my sucking gasp. The sound bounded off the crisp waters of the lake: a pure, resounding bark.

"Noah!" I wasn't sure if I yelled his name or just thought it and, operating on pure instinct, I brought my fingers to my lips and finger whistled… shrill and long and ear-splittingly loud and I felt a sudden startling pain in my side. Noah barked again, this time closer, and I saw something through the trees further ahead. I couldn't be sure what it was...

"What the fuck is that!?" screamed a voice. I looked up in shock to see Heath, gun raised and pointed at my dark entity.

He fired off three rounds quickly. I didn't see if his shots hit the beast, though his roar continued. My vision swirled, fading in and out of focus. A tall figure ran to me.

"Michonne!"

"Rick…?"

I heard something clatter to the ground. I looked down to see Noah circling my legs.

"Are you okay?" I asked weakly.

Rick caught me around the shoulders, holding me upright.

I grasped Rick's shirt, sure I'd never let go again.

"I thought you were dead," I choked out.

"Narcan…Heath used Narcan. Maggie makes them keep Narcan doses in their squad cars for overdose victims," Rick replied. "Shit – your stomach."

"What the fuck is that!?" Heath screamed again, cutting Rick off. "Am I the only one seeing this shit?!" The gun trembled in his hand, still pointed to the beast. "That fucking Thing has Aaron's head!"

The Prince hissed at Heath, and then turned and hissed at me. Aaron's body dangled limply from its slender claws, his head grasped firmly in the other hand; blood dripping into the snow below.

"Don't shoot him!" I cried.

"You think I haven't tried?! It doesn't do shit!" he screeched. "Get the fuck away from my monster!" he yelled at it and shot again.

Heath scrambled back as The Beast moved between the three of us. And we looked on, me with relative relief and Rick and Heath with a mixture of terror and disbelief, as my entity dragged itself up the shore and disappeared into the dark of the forest, taking Aaron with it.

Rick helped me to the ground, instructing Heath, who was staring dumbstruck at the thatch of pines the demon had disappeared into, to call an ambulance. Noah licked my hand and I felt his warmth at my leg.

"Maggie!" I cried, remembering with a painful jolt. Her name was enough to jolt Heath out of his shock-induced stupor too. "She's in the basement of the old lifeguard shack," I told him. "Aaron dosed her with Fentanyl too."

"I've got more Narcan - another dose in case Rick needed it." He took off toward the shack, phone to his ear, his laden duty belt bouncing stridently in time with his jog. "I don't know how the fuck I'm gonna explain this!" he yelled out.

I leaned my head back against the comfort of Rick's arm. The pressure of his hand on the stab wound swallowed most of the pain. His expression was grim.

"Erica's body is down there," I rasped. "He killed her…" I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to will away the image of Erica's lifeless head from my brain.

"Hush, it's okay now. It's over," he said softly, words slightly slurred. "But you need to stay awake." I stared up at him, his eyes were glazed, red-rimmed. I realized then that the suffocating, choking, bursting feeling inside of me was gone. But I was in pain, I hurt all over.

"Don't leave me," I croaked. I squeezed his hand so hard he winced. "Please. You're not allowed to leave me."

"Yes ma'am," he said, and the warmth in his voice filled the space left within me.


	30. Now Forever Can Begin

"Are you ready?" Maggie asked, her hand firmly clasped in mine. I swore under my breath, trying to calm the rapid pacing of my heart.

"I'm scared," I said.

She threw her head back and laughed at that. The sunshine caught on the silver chain around her neck causing it to glint.

"Don't give me that crap! You've survived worse."

I nodded tersely. And despite my misgivings, we both crouched a little at the knees. It was a practiced stance, one I didn't really think about or even mean to do. An automatic response left over from the hundreds and hundreds of instances of doing this exact thing back in my youth.

Maggie called loudly so everyone could hear: "Three… Two… One!"

We jumped on one, pushing hard off the granite and flipping backward. Terrifying and exhilarating in equal measure. With a rush, I remembered why I loved doing this: that precise moment where exertion met gravity and I began to free fall straight into nothing; the way the air rushed past my ears, buffeting loudly as a helicopter; those brief moments of pure nothing where the world stopped and it was me who moved instead.

I plunged into the icy depths. In a blink, the bright of the summer sun transformed into the dark, inky waters of Blue Ridge Lake. I turned and swam toward the surface, breaking it with a big splash and a cheer. Maggie, to my right, did the same.

"Heads up!"

We looked up just in time to see Morgan take a running leap and front flip straight off Red Bridge Rock, diving into the water between us. Next was Glenn. And then Rick was up.

"Come on!" I yelled up at him "Don't be chicken."

Even from where I was treading water, twenty-something feet below where Rick stood on the precipice of the rock, I could see his look of apprehension. But then he let out a sudden battle cry and fell forward, hands outstretched, straight as a pin. He sliced straight through the water.

He came back up and let out a whoop. "That's a rush!" We looked at each other and shared a grin. "Again?"

"At your own peril," I said. "I can't be bothered hiking around the hill to the top of that rock again."

"Damn, man!" Morgan said. "I was positive you were gonna belly flop."

"What can I say? There's more to me than just pure muscle and good looks," Rick said and flexed.

"Do I need to be worried right now?" I said. "Trapped between both of your inflated egos, I'm seriously concerned I might die of suffocation."

Morgan laughed and began swimming away from us toward the tied swimming raft. When he was sure I was looking, he kicked water in my direction. I squealed and ducked away.

"I'm not 16 and 110 pounds anymore, MJ!" I yelled. "When I dunk you, you're gonna notice it!"

"Not if you can't catch me," he called back, flipping me the bird.

We all swam after Morgan, following him closer to the shore of the lake's main beach and up onto the wooden swimming raft. I flopped onto my back, the wooden boards warm and welcoming against my spine. I closed my eyes. The raft bobbed left to right and I could hear the sounds of locals on the beach, a mix of cheerful chatter and the squeals of children.

Glen let out a sigh of contentment. "All we need is some brews."

"Fuck, then we really would be 16 again," Maggie said, slapping the raft for emphasis.

"Remember that body-board we rigged with the beer cooler?" I said. "We'd draw straws to see whose turn it was to paddle it out here."

"Oh my god, and that time Morgan drew the short straw and wouldn't stop singing that stupid, godawful Backstreet Boys song until someone else caved and dragged it out!"

"Yes!" I laughed, the memory appearing in my mind as clear as a bell. "I forgot all about that! I think it was Ezekiel who ended up paddling it out. He was so salty about that too."

"Good," Morgan said. "Ezekiel is a jackass."

"That's right," Glen chuckled, "Then you just rowed your canoe on out after you made him tow the beer board to the raft. The look on his face!"

"Was that the time we tried to see how many of people this thing could take before it would begin sinking?" Maggie said.

"Oh, yeah. I remember that" I said. We never managed it. There was about 15 of us teens, a mix of locals and regular vacationers like Morgan and me, crammed onto the floating raft, jumping and shouting, trying to push one another off.

"And I think that was Aaron who busted us for drinking out here too," Maggie continued. "Took our board."

"It was," Morgan said. "I tried to break into the lifeguard hut to get it back the next morning… But I couldn't get in, he had it locked up tighter than Fort Knox."

Our laughter petered out, the mood sobering swiftly as throwing water on coals. We lapsed into silence, and I opened my eyes to stare up at the sky. I was 16 again and my worries were both enormous and inconsequential, the way every teenager's worries were. Who I was crushing on. How best to fill the endless days of summer? Who was partying where? Who said what behind which person's back. And two hundred yards to my right a very different world was kept under lock and key in the basement of a lifeguard hut. It chilled me, in a deeply visceral way, right in my gut.

I felt Rick's finger trace along the scar at my side and I tilted my head to gaze at him.

"Don't get too lost in there," he said quietly.

"Where?" I mouthed.

He tapped his forehead. "In the past." Even this close to me, his words were barely audible over the sound of the water slapping the underside of the raft. I searched his eyes, which were neither pitying nor patronizing. He propped himself up on one elbow. "I think we need to make another one of those floating coolers." He turned, addressing the whole group and leaving me to time travel back to the present. "I have a feeling Phillip will make sure the lifeguards look the other way."

"Of course, he will," Maggie said with a snort. "He thinks the sun shines out of Michonne's ass. He'll do anything if she asks sweetly enough."

"Hey!" I protested. "I have it on good authority the sun does shine out of my ass, thank you very much."

Everyone laughed, smoothly restoring the mood and current decade.

The fact was, the townsfolk here did seem to think sun shone out my ass, for lack of a better term. Everyone and their dog still stopped me whenever I was in town to thank me for my bravery and to enquire after my health. During my hospital stay in Roanoke, the nurses needed a list of approved visitors. Partly to stop the locals from coming in all day to check in on me but also to stop the media hounding me... It had worked for a while.

And Maggie? She was as good as a superhero in these parts. She'd even successfully applied to the county for more funding for the sheriff's office. Blue Ridge County Sheriff department now boasted a detective part-time on staff.

While everyone chatted, I slid off the raft and down into the cool waters of the lake. It was like slipping into a cool welcoming glove. My skin prickled upon contact with the water.

I paddled on my back like a jellyfish for a while until I heard the steady strokes of Rick moving to catch up with me. I watched as he swam on past me and rescued a floating log from between some rocks and reeds. He paddled it back to me and we slung ourselves over either end of the old log, staying buoyant.

"Hard to imagine only a few months ago this whole place was covered in snow and basically frozen over," he said.

"It's like another world, isn't it?" The breeze today was mild and warm, strong enough to texture the lake surface but not strong enough to cause whitecaps. The sun caught on the ripples, dashes of bright white against the deep blue of the lake, the tall peak of my cabin roof and flat angle of Rick's rental next door was visible from above the trees. It was a perfect world here. Life paused on one of the best parts.

"I've been giving thought to what you said…"

Rick responded simply with a raised brow.

"And I'm going to go back to Atlanta after the summer and pack up the house there. It's time to sell."

"And then what?"

I was communicating better these days, better than I had six months ago. I accepted that whatever my future was, it was going to feature Rick. But what exactly that entailed? I didn't know.

I rested my chin against the log, paddling my legs idly. "I don't know… I can't work pro-bono here forever."

"We could try New York…"

"We could. Or Atlanta."

"That too," he said.

"But if you think this is hot, then the south might kill you."

"I'll just have to be creative..." He scooted close to me and kissed me. "I'm sure we can find ways to cool me down."

I rolled my eyes and wrapped an arm around his neck. I let him kiss me again. "That makes no sense…" I gasped when we parted. "The opposite of sense." The water around us was going to start steaming if we kept this up.

"I don't care where we are," he said. "As long as I'm right… here…" He nuzzled his chin between my breasts and I pushed him off.

"You're a horn-dog." I scoffed.

He looked up, eyes wide and fully engaged in puppy-mode.

"You're the worst," I grumbled. I pushed his wet hair off his forehead and he smiled at me. His expression was so… so open and unreserved. My stomach flipped. "I love you so damn much," I said.

Rick opened his mouth to speak but our private little interlude was cut off by the sound of a shrill finger whistle.

"Oh, hell naw!" I heard Morgan say. "I regret ever teaching that woman how to do that." Carol stood at the shore from where she'd whistled, waving Morgan in. "Daddy duties await!" Morgan said crouched on the raft ready to dive in, but I called out to him, telling him I'd go and help Carol with the kids instead. It was probably time to swim in any way, we'd left her with the kids so we could climb the rock about a half hour earlier.

I brushed a kiss on Rick's cheek and swam towards the shore, leaving the group to their afternoon antics.

"Sorry," I said, stepping from the water and accepting the towel Carol handed me. "Got caught up out there reliving the past."

"It's alright. The kids are happily playing." She nodded over to Duane and Sofia, who was sitting on the pebbly shore in their swimsuits. They were loading and hauling pebbles in their buckets. "But there's someone here to see you." She leaned close, dropping her voice to a whisper. "I told him to get lost, but he was really insistent."

I sighed and nodded. From over her shoulder, a man stood leaning against the trunk of a pine that towered over the carpark path. An older gentleman, his forehead deeply lined and serious; we caught eyes and he simply nodded. I wrapped the towel around my shoulders and walked over to my belongings. I dried off and pulled on my tie-dye cover dress over my bikini. I slipped into my sandals, taking care to avoid looking at my toes and wandered up to meet the man.

"Can I help you?"

"Are you Michonne Dixon?" Deep and rough, his voice bottomed out when he spoke my name.

"Depends who's asking," I replied and crossed my arms. He neither flinched nor smiled. My next rebuff, ready and waiting at my lips, suddenly faltered and vanished. His was a different response to the usual sickly-sweet pandering I got from journalists, or really anyone trying to chase a story from me.

His hand slipped into his inner coat pocket and retrieved a small business card. Before I realized what was happening, my hand clasped around it.

"Professor Jeffery Negan. My assistant has been attempting to contact you over the course of the last several weeks to no avail."

I thumbed the card without glancing at it, opting to hold his gaze, though his eyes were partially obscured by the darkness of his glasses. They were those transition lenses that went darker in the sun. Still, I could tell he was examining me as closely as I was him.

"Professor of what and where?"

"Professor of Psychology at Colby College in Maine."

"Can't say I've heard of it."

He finally offered a smile: small, tight and conciliatory. "Most haven't. We are a modestly sized campus."

I finally looked at the card. His details were printed in a neat Garamond typeface with the college crest taking up a large portion of the card. "Is it one of those for-profit institutes?"

"In a sense."

I wrinkled my nose at his evasiveness. "So why are you looking for me?"

His eyes shifted to scan over my shoulder and then back to me. "A friend of my colleague brought your story to my attention. I'd like to meet with you to discuss how I think we may be able to help one another. How you may be able to help others."

I folded my arms across my chest. It probably looked silly with my wet bikini showing through the fabric, but I lifted my chin, anyway. "It's not my story. The story belongs to those dead girls. To the dedicated law enforcement who helped resolve and bring closure to all their families. It doesn't belong to me. I'm not interested in talking about how sick Aaron Ross really was."

"You know that's not why I'm here."

I was lost, or at least searching for the right words when Rick's hand landed on my shoulder. He squeezed gently. "Is this guy bothering you, Michonne?" His hand was damp with lake water, moisture seeping through into the fabric.

"No, no…" I said distractedly, glancing slowly between the card and the man before me. "He was just leaving."

Professor Negan gestured slightly, and I handed the card back over to him. He pulled a pen from the coat pocket and scrawled something quickly onto the back.

"Please consider taking a meeting with me. I'll be in Roanoke all weekend staying at the Marriott."

"She's not interested in talking to the media," Rick said, and I could feel him beside me rising up to his full height, shoulders back. Again, the professor didn't flinch or seem to notice the hostility behind the comment.

"I am of the opinion, Ms. Dixon," he continued as if Rick hasn't spoken at all, "that what you experienced was the beginning, rather than a single, extraordinary occurrence. And if what I suspect is true, then you may wish to have people at your side ready and able to guide you in the future." He handed the card back to me, turned and walked back up the path back toward the carpark.

"What was that about?" Rick said when the man disappeared around the corner.

"I don't know, and I'm not sure I want to find out," I murmured. I turned the card over to inspect the back. Scrawled in black pen read: The Negan Institute and underneath, a web address.

"Is there anything I can do? Want me to call Maggie over?"

"No, no, it's okay…" I shook my head a little, trying to clear the fog of surprise and confusion.

Rick gently drew me by the shoulders and turned me to face the water again.

"Look, there are beers in the cooler with our names on it and two cute little munchkins dying to play with their favorite aunt; so, come on, funky toes."

"Think you're really clever, huh?" I elbowed him playfully and wiggled my foot at him.

"Oh, I know I'm clever," Rick declared and led us back to the lake.

It was funny that for all that talk of consequences and ancient deities, the only consequence I'd really faced after my showdown with Aaron was the amputation of my two littlest toes at the first knuckle and one very lucky scar on my abdomen. The blade missed my liver by millimeters. I stared at the card in my hand as we walked and, for the first time, considered the possibility of other consequences I had yet to fully realize.

The moment we got back home from the lake, Carol declared her need for a nap and disappeared into the guest bedroom. She'd actually confided in me on the day of their arrival at the beginning of summer that she was newly pregnant. Morgan had beamed proudly. Morgan had been doting on her the whole trip. And so, this evening, Morgan announced he was taking charge of dinner and grilling steaks, while Glenn and Rick made a mess in the kitchen sorting out the sides. I retreated upstairs, leaving Maggie sitting in the yard with a beer watching the kids play with Noah.

I stood leaning against the frame of my bedroom window, watching as Duane and Sophia played catch out on the lawn and Maggie yelled out pointers to them both. The phone, pressed against my ear, rang half a dozen times before my call was finally picked up.

"Oh my God. Hi stranger!" She sounded puffed.

"Hi, Mara."

"You're not going to believe this, but I was just thinking of you!" I heard some movement in the background of wherever she was, a door shutting, and the ambient sound suddenly diminished to nothing.

"Universe works in mysterious ways, I guess," I said. "Have you got a minute to talk?"

She laughed. "I always have a minute to talk and then some. My Dad has been trying to get me an apprenticeship at his company and just as I thought, it's going predictably bad. Just ugh..." She groaned. "I'm looking for any excuse to escape."

"Well… I need to borrow your ear for a minute." I explained my run-in with the Professor at the lake earlier that day.

"I can't say I've heard of him or the institute. They are out this way, though."

"Well… That's kinda what I figured." Mara moved back to Maine earlier due to her father insisting that she go back and work for him at his ad agency.

"I haven't told anyone!" she said defensively, her words leaping out to fill the silence. "If that's what you're thinking. Other than the coven's high priestess, which you already know. Have you talked to Ruth?"

I snorted softly. "She was the first person I called." And she'd had no idea too.

"Have you looked up that web address?" Mara asked.

I rested my forehead against the glass and resisted the urge to sigh. "No. Kinda feels like tempting fate."

"Alright, how about you read out the address to me and I'll look it up for you? I'll tell you if I think it's legit or not."

I dutifully read out the web address as I paced the hardwood floors of my bedroom.

"He looks like the real deal, Michonne," she finally said after some minutes had passed.

I took a shaky breath. Exactly what I was afraid of.

"It's a research institute. He's the professor of psychology at the neighboring college. Got his Ph.D. originally in abnormal psychology. And the college and this institute? Looks like they collaborate to produce a biannual psychology journal, focusing on para-psychology but nothing too…hocus pocus, if you know what I mean."

"Not really, no." I walked back to the window, resuming my previous post. Noah was now trying to playfully jump on top of the kids and Maggie was trying to drag him off, though she laughed loudly while doing so.

"Well," Mara said, "one article discusses evaluation tools for studying psychic phenomena using empirical evidence, another is looking at EVPs – ya know, ghosts speaking on digital recordings – discussing how it's captured and its legitimacy, another looks at the role of paranoia and anxiety disorders in the incidence of perceived paranormal experiences."

"Alright, alright... Okay." I took a deep breath.

"Wow. He's a bit of a silver fox, too." She let out a low wolf whistle.

"Oh yeah, he's totally got the brooding thing down."

"Are you going to contact him?"

Mara accepted my silent response for all of three seconds before letting out a sound of exasperation. "That whole time you were dealing with The Watcher, The Maenad, and the possessed serial- killer, weren't you looking for someone who had the answers? Well, here is you're someone. Someone who could actually help."

"But everything's fine now," I protested. "I don't need help anymore."

"Honestly? Isn't this a no-brainer for you? You might think you don't need help; but to me, it seems like he has answers - or at least more knowledge about the nightmare you went through. And if anyone knows what your future holds well, surely it's going to be someone who studies psychic phenomena for a living."

I thudded my head dully against the glass in resignation. She was right, of course.

Rick and I lay stretched out in bed and sweaty, my head pressed against his bare chest. In one ear, I could hear the steady thump of his heart; in the other, it was the night sounds filtering through the screen door leading to the balcony. Crickets, the warm breeze, the sound of the pine quills gently rushing.

I traced my fingers along the length of his arm. The act was a mini-marathon for my fingertips. They traversed the rise and fall of bicep then elbow joint and then the elongated forearm muscles, moved through a roughened patch of arm hair, then over the rigid bumps of tendons on the back of his hand, and finally his knuckles. Then my fingers turned back the way they came retracing their path back up to his shoulder.

"I can feel you thinking," he mumbled. His eyes were closed, Rick still lost in that sea of post-coitus floating.

"You can't," I said with a soft laugh.

"I can," he said, sounding slightly more wakeful. "It feels like a thought bubble with scribbles drawn inside."

My fingers stopped, and I pinched him lightly.

"Hey, now!" he said, trying to squirm away. "Play nice!"

"That's funny," I said innocently. "When you wanted to play before, you definitely said nothing about being nice…"

He growled softly and rolled me onto him so we were chest to chest. We were almost nose to nose too. He kissed me and wrapped his calves around mine, locking my legs in place.

"What's up?" he said.

"Is that a trick question?"

He laughed but still managed to give me a stern look.

"Fine… Fine. I'm just thinking about how you liked me and pursued me despite all the seriously effed up crap going on in my life."

"Of course," he said as if there wasn't any other alternative.

"But…" I paused to take a deep breath, to resolve myself. "It's crap that goes so far beyond any acceptable level of new relationship baggage that, that I'm…" I chewed my lip, searching for the right word.

"You're what?" The playful banter from his tone died out.

"I'm wondering when it stops being acceptable?"

"When what stops being acceptable?"

"I'm not explaining myself well." I pushed myself up on my elbow so I could see him better. "I love you, but if Euronymous was only a taste of things to come, then I completely understand, accept, and, ugh-" I groused, annoyed at my own rationality. I really, really just wanted to be selfish. "-–encourage you to go and do your own thing. Without me."

"Michonne…" His brows pinched close together and his hands rose to cradle my cheeks. The crickets continued their chorus through his thoughtful silence and then he finally spoke. "We are having this conversation once – now – and never again. You're it for me, funky toes. 'It' as in The End. Roll credits. Happily, ever after. You know that. I know you know that. I would follow you into the depths of hell if I had to. And one day, I'm going to get you to agree to marry me, and even if some bloody deity is the one to walk you down the aisle and give you away, it would still be the happiest day of my life. I need to know you understand. Tell me you understand that."

I opened my mouth to speak but the words escaped me. They simply vanished out of existence with a pop. Well, leave it to my author to render me utterly speechless. So, I simply nodded.

"Good."

We kissed again, his hands on my cheeks gentle yet uncompromising. When we parted, I couldn't help my smile. My heart threatened to split in two, I was so happy. I mean, it's not often that a man declares he'd follow you into the depths of hell and actually, literally mean it.

"I would do the same for you," I said. "Except I'd be dragging us straight back outta hell because I know you can't stand the heat."

"Well, that's true. I'm more than happy to let you be my knight in shining armor. I've seen how pro you are at defeating demons." He said it with a knowing grin, and I began laughing knowing exactly where this punchline was headed. "I mean, look at how swiftly you helped me deal with Andrea."

"She's less demon and more…succubus."

"Not nearly so appealing," he scoffed. "More like bottom shelf slag."

"So, will you come with me to meet him?"

He knew exactly who I was talking about.

"Like you could ditch me that easily," he said.

Early the next evening, we were seated across from Jeffery Negan in the small, generically furnished bar of the Marriott hotel.

"I'm honestly surprised you met with me so soon," Negan said. This evening he wore black slacks, a white button-up shirt, and a royal blue blazer. I had a sneaking suspicious this was about as casual as his casual wear got.

I shrugged tersely and took a sip of my soda water. "Well. Better to rip off the band-aid, I suppose. And I reserve the right to leave at any time."

"Of course," he responded reasonably.

"And I'm the one that going to be asking the questions."

"By all means," he said, gesturing with an open hand. "You hold the court. You have control." His face was calm, though his dark eyes were assessing. He wasn't trying to form an opinion of me. Just trying to make sense of me. My therapist had the same expression.

I felt the prickle of tension begin to goose-pimple my arms and Rick, perhaps sensing this, began with his own line of questioning.

"How did you find out about Michonne? Who told you?"

"A coven who reside in Maine."

"Any affiliation with Mara Taylor?" I asked.

"Can't say I'm familiar with every member. The high priestess is Mae Reynolds."

Rick turned to me and I nodded slightly in response. That name was for sure the woman I'd heard Mara mention a few times before. At least that answered the question of how he found out about me.

"What is it exactly that you think you know about me?"

"You moved out to relative isolation after a life-changing event. You were emotionally and mentally vulnerable and came into contact with something otherworldly. I believe that certain people are beacons. It's partially biological and the other part…well, that's the part I've spent many years searching for."

"I'm listening."

"Your emotional struggle with death caused you to become a magnet to the other world. Your pain and despair summoned the entity that Mae described as the 'Higher Order'. Your return to the cabin, to the area in which so much death, violence had occurred drew so much emotional turmoil it became ground zero for all of your paranormal activity. Aaron Ross was in all essence your polar opposite, he initially summoned that demon and they became symbiotic…Am I correct?"

I nodded and paused for a moment. "At the time," I began, "I dedicated many, many sleepless nights to thinking about what I was going through…" I took a long sip of my drink, the points of my argument forming in my mind. "I had dreams and then an outside confirmation of what it was before anyone else had seen or experienced it. I saw a listing of the being in an ancient grimoire. The girls' bones in the cave - to me that all suggest that the "being" existed long before I had cause or reason to think about it."

Negan nodded with satisfaction. "I agree, you are not the only beacon, there were others before you. I don't believe Eurynomos is the only Watcher, just like the Maenad is not the only demon, and just like Aaron Ross is not the only serial killer. Nothing, not even death is singular.

I nodded again, though I felt my stomach turn over with nerves. He just quoted Dolores. And the fact someone knowledgeable with some sort of authority on the subject was affirming my experience? I reached down and squeezed Rick's thigh. Mara was right. This is helpful.

"So, what are your motivations for being here?" I asked. "You want me to be some sort of test subject?" I pictured being hooked up to machines while my brain waves were scanned. "I've read a little of the journal you publish... It's very science-based, lots of data analysis."

"I have my work, Ms. Dixon, and I have my interests. They appear combined, but they are in fact running quite parallel to one another. One funds the other."

"Okay… So, in plain terms?"

"Have you ever seen or read about true-life accounts of possessions or exorcisms?"

I shook my head. "Nothing more than what I've seen in TV and movies."

"I don't mean the over the top Catholicized variety where impressionable young teens dealing with serious mental health issues are denied health care and instead doused with holy water and prayed over. I'm referring to humans who suffer as literal hosts for demons and malevolent spirits."

He opened his wallet and slid across a faded picture of a young boy and girl, the boy was dressed as a cowboy pointing a toy gun at the camera and the girl was in diapers, sitting on the ground with a teddy.

"The baby is my younger sister. She died when she was 19… My parents, they had no idea what was happening, they thought she was having a breakdown but I saw things I couldn't explain. Furniture moving on its own, she spoke invoices that did not originate from her throat, she spoke in riddles… Shared details of things she could not have possibly known. By the time it was clear it was not of this world her body gave out. Starvation. She died." I picked up the photo and traced my thumb across the infant's face. She was chubby-cheeked, her eyes trained on her smiling brother. "That's what drew my interest in this field."

"My case was different," I said, handing the photograph back. "I was asked to help on the case by local law enforcement. I kind of feel like my assistance with the murders relied on a right place at the right time approach."

"Yes, and in turn, you were confronted by the victims who had been dead for two decades, and guided by an otherworldly creature," He leaned forward in his seat and took a sip of his soda, "You are a very rare specimen, Michonne. You are a medium of sorts. An in-between."

"A conduit…" I murmured and he nodded deeply.

"Yes, a conduit. Rather like a communication rod between life and death." He flipped open his briefcase and retrieved a manila file, placing it on the table between us. "Would you help others, if given the chance?"

"Others… people like your sister?"

"Yes, people like that. Or homes and objects hindered, captive by bad energy from presences unable to move on. Resolve cold cases, assist in the investigations of missing peoples."

"I don't know… I really doubt I can even be much use to you." I shook my head slowly.

"Open the file."

I opened the file, inside was a stack of printed notes with a family photo sitting on top. It was one of those professional shots you could get done at department stores. I dated the photo to the early 80s, purely going off the hairstyles.

"Who are they?"

"Thornton family, 1985. They died as a result of a fire. The grounds where their home once stood exhibit an incredible amount of ambient electromagnetic fields. We've collected numerous convincing EVPs there also. Local fire investigators ruled the fire accidental, but arson investigative techniques and forensics have advanced significantly since then. Many obvious clues were overlooked. Locals believe it was arson. Their extended family believes it was arson. The home was never rebuilt. And any construction efforts have resulted in catastrophic failure, injury and even loss of life."

I shook my head again and pushed the file back towards him. "I can't. I really can't. My experience fucked me up. I couldn't sleep, I could barely function. I was making poor decisions."

He smiled kindly and removed the file from the table, returning it to his briefcase.

"Understandable. But what if you had a team of people working with you? Those who could guide you and ensure your ability was channeled in a healthy manner, within a controlled and safe environment. You would be free to leave at any time, free to extricate yourself from the situation at any point."

I nervously tapped my fingertips against the tabletop. I closed my eyes and exhaled slowly. This was too much. Too overwhelming. I couldn't think, even just the noise of the bar crowded my ability to form a clear though.

"Michonne, have you wondered the implications of if your experience truly was 'right time, right place'?"

I opened my eyes again and simply blinked at him.

"I don't follow," Rick said.

"What if you stumble into the right place again? Or, as I suspect, you are the right place and things are drawn to you. How will you cope? How will you handle it?"

I pinched my lips shut and shook my head slowly. The thought was chilling.

"I have the means to help you, Ms. Dixon. If you wish to learn only coping strategies, then that is perfectly acceptable. I am happy to assist. And the rest of this?" He patted his briefcase. "This can be secondary. Optional. Entirely up to you."

"And if I do choose to help you? What kind of scenario do you envision?"

"Your time will be paid. I'm a professor and engaged heavily in research, so my time is fairly limited, but I will call upon you for perhaps a week or two here and there throughout the year. I run the institute with other colleagues. Together, we can be flexible and work out a suitable schedule."

After my meeting with Negan, Rick bought me ice-cream. A double scoop of Choco Mint Chip. For himself, he chose Sea Salt Caramel. We walked the streets of Roanoke as the sunset.

"I feel like I'm trapped in some episode of the X-files." I couldn't get the image of Professor Negan as a boy, his sister, and The Thornton family out of my head. Or the thought I would be dragged into more paranormal BS regardless of it I wanted it or not.

"I think you're safe from the cigarette smoking man."

"Are you sure about that?" I asked giving him the side eye.

"Oh… Fairly sure."

"Then maybe I just need to move to South Dakota and start looking for a briefcase full of cash." I sighed and threw my sticky napkin into a garbage can as we passed it.

"Maybe we just need to change the narrative? Take control of the story."

"And so how do we do that, Mr. Author?"

"We look for inspiration around us." He grinned and waggled his brows.

"I'm not flashing you in public," I grumbled.

"Well… How about the next best thing?"

He took me by the hand and, despite my protests, walked me to the corner of Main street. There, at the bend in the road, lay a small leafy park - one I'd never seen before. He sat me down on a park bench facing the mountain and we watched the sunset project onto Mt. Azul in shades of orange and pink to an eventual pale twilight blue.

The overwhelming view collected my anxious whirling thoughts and scattered them to the wind. Who knew what would happen? Who knew if my so-called ability would affect me again, or if I'd even be of any use to Jeffery Negan and his institute? Maybe this panic was all for nothing. But, then again, what if his warning did come true?

"How's this for a different narrative?" I said once I found my voice. Rick turned to me, curiosity and the last light of day coloring his handsome features. "I sort out the house in Atlanta, leave it for sale with a realtor. Then we buy a big camper, something cheesy and retro that's going to tick all your wanderlust boxes. Hell, you can even get a dodgy acoustic guitar that you can pretend you know how to play. We make our way slowly back to New York in time for your next launch. We have fun, we sightsee, we fight, we… do other adult things. Then before we hit city limits, we detour and stop by the professor's institute."

"My great American road trip?" Rick's smile was broad and sure.

"Mine and Noah's too…You know, they say if you want to know how you really feel about someone the best thing to do is take a road trip with them or are you having second thoughts about my funky toes, Grimes?"

"Never." He pulled me onto his lap and kissed me deeply. "And then what?" he asked, his voice low and raspy.

"You tell me," I said. "How do you finish a story like that?"

He answered immediately. "With a happy ending."

"I don't know, isn't that too cheesy?" I wrapped my arms around his neck, reveling in his warmth and good spirits, reveling in the fact that this was the life I was living. This one right here, where I was loved and alive and the future was there just waiting for us.

"It's not cheesy if it's deserved."

"What even is a happy ending, anyway?" The question was meant to be rhetorical; but to my surprise, I found the answer came easily. "It's a life well lived."

Maybe a happy ending was less about the happy part and more about making the most of every facet of your life, even the not-so-great parts. You know, those parts that include grief and heartache… and even the parts with crazy paranormal encounters.

"Okay," Rick said decisively. "Then let's live it well."

I could do that. It was no longer a hope or an uncertainty or something just out of reach. I could really, truly do that.


End file.
